Harry Potter and the Hunger Games
by De Brussyere
Summary: [Complete] Harry Potter is the son of two Victors from District Six. So despite his low chances of being reaped as a 12 year old with one slip in the bowl, he finds himself a tribute in the 69th Hunger Games. TRIGGER WARNING (graphic violence, forced sex, suicide)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 1**

**Home in the Grey**

The cot is hard and lumpy but I'm used to it by now. After years of lying on the same one it's difficult not to get used to it. It's not like I sleep on it anyway, so I don't need it to be comfortable. This isn't my bedroom. It's my jail cell. That's right, _my _jail cell. The prison gets so little use that I'm essentially the only one to ever use this cell.

I stare up at the familiar grey ceiling. Everything is always grey here. Grey, dull, and slow. And not just in the prison. It's like this everywhere in District Six. Sometime I think even the sun takes longer to cross the sky here than it does in any other district. Not that I've been to other districts, mind. It's expressly forbidden unless you're a Victor, a Peacekeeper, or summoned by the Capitol. I don't know if that's the case in all districts but that's how it is in Six. The District of Transportation and we can't go anywhere.

This is my home. District Grey they should call it. It's not the most populated district in Panem, but it certainly is the largest. Our beloved industry being transportation, we are the central hub of all transit in Panem. Cars, trains, hovercraft, we build them all. Tracks and roads too. Unless you're from One, Two, or Three, everything passed first through Six before reaching the Capitol. Frankly I'd do without that. Our proximity to the Capitol is in no way advantageous.

Unlike District One, which builds all the luxury items they use in the Capitol, we see very little of the wealth that trickles out of the shining center of Panem. District Two, which provides the vast majority of Peacekeepers, is farther from the Capitol than we are - somewhere to the southwest I think but we're not supposed to know that - and maybe a tenth of the size of Six, yet they still lead far more comfortable lives than those of us closest to the Capitol. I figured out long ago that the numbering of districts has little to do with where we are in reference to the Capitol, but rather signifies our value to those that matter. Namely President Snow and his cabinet. Six out of twelve isn't so bad I guess.

But the size of District Six is more of a nuisance than anything to be proud of. It takes forever to get anywhere, and every step of the way there are Peacekeepers. Being so close to the Capitol means the extra security is unavoidable, lest we get rowdy and cause trouble. Of course the worst crime anyone in Six is likely to commit is trafficking. Drug trafficking, that is. Addiction to morphling, a powerful painkiller, is rampant throughout Six. Though our main industry is transportation we're also the center for medical research, which makes morphling an esily accessible product. I'd wager at least half the population is hooked on it. Which means that, though crime rates are technically high, the people of Six are docile. Most of us anyway.

Unfortunately this leads to another problem. Boredom. The lack of commotion makes the Peacekeepers restless, which doesn't bode well for us. More often than not an arrest is a death sentence, since the so called criminals never make it to prison due to blood-loss or blunt-force trauma while "resisting arrest".

The Peacekeepers aren't the only ones that feel the boredom though. Everyone sane enough feels it. Everyone that wasn't on morphling. I feel it. That's why I'm here today. It's far from the first time I've ended up in jail. Thanks to the boredom I started ending up here at least once a week since I was 7. Trespassing was my offense this time. I'd thought it might be a good idea to sneak into one of those secretive hangers that hold experimental aircraft and the like. I was promptly caught though. I could have escaped the Peacekeepers if I'd wanted to, I'm probably the fastest thing there is in Six and I've done it many times before, but once they saw my face there was no point. Being only 12 now, I'm still too young to warrant the excessive violence from the Peacekeepers. Plus my celebrity status would probably keep me safe except in the case of a serious offense. So they punish me in the only way they know how. Jail time. The only possible punishment for daring to fight against the all-encompassing boredom. More boredom.

It's not exactly boring right now though. It never is when Nymphadora Tonks is in her usual cell right next to mine. She's one of the few regulars besides me and I'm so very glad for it. Grunts, moans and the wet slapping of flesh against flesh emanate from her cell. It brings a smirk to my face imagining the scene next door. I've known about sex for years now. I learned of it the hard way when I was first placed in the cell next to Nym, or Nympho as the garrison likes to call her. She's a drug trafficker, but unlike most she gets away with it. Instead of being beaten to death, the Peacekeepers take out their frustrations on her in a more pleasurable way. One after another after another. I was a little bit horrified by it until I realized that good old Nym enjoys it just as much as they do.

"When's my turn, Nym?" I ask her teasingly. Her breathless bark of laughter answers me. She's so unladylike.

"Not for many years, Harry," she tells me between panting breaths. It disturbed me at first, the way she will hold a conversation with me even as she's taking a lover. We've grown close over the years, after all the times we've been neighbors in here. It took a while to take our friendship outside of the prison. The familiar was comforting and I knew if ever I want to see her, all I need to do is get arrested.

One day changed our whole dynamic, when instead of getting arrested we decided to run away from the Peacekeepers together. It was thrilling and fun, but most of all it was freeing. Helping one another jump fences or climb walls forced down the last barriers that prevented us from truly trusting each other. It brought us closer than anything else had before. From then on we became more than just neighbors, and we added escaping to our list of activities in common. Except Sundays when we'd end up back here. She always gets caught on Sunday and I know for a fact she does it on purpose. She has a gap that needs filling regularly, she tells me. I couldn't deny her that, and so I join her as often as possible to continue the tradition that first brought us together.

Once upon a time I had something of a crush on her, before I was old enough to really understand what that meant, but I know she'll never settle down. She likes the way things are now, and has no need for a relationship. It was her color that really attracted me to her. She's like a rainbow in the Grey that is District Six. Her hair color is always changing every time I see her, and she wears the brightest, flashiest clothing she can get her hands on. Though she never wears anything too hard to take off quickly.

"Aww, but what if I get reaped this year? Then I'll have died a virgin. You don't want that to happen, do you?" I whine playfully. It's something of a running joke between us, how most of the unfortunate tributes die virgins. It's something Nym likes to boast she won't have to worry about. Silence is my answer though. Well, her silence anyway. Whatever Peacekeeper is currently pounding away at her hasn't relented yet. Normally it's a harmless joke, but I sense I've hit a nerve this time. Because this year I'm 12 and it's no longer an abstract notion. My name will be in the bowl.

Nym's own name is in the girls' bowl 7 times this year since she's 18. It's her last year of eligibility and we're both hoping it'll pass without her name coming out of that bowl. Normally an orphan like her would have a lot more than 7 slips in the bowl, but thanks to the Peacekeepers settling for her body rather than busting her drug operations she's never had to take tessarae to feed herself. Most of the poor children in Six are not so lucky. I try not to think about the early age at which she started trafficking and, by extension, getting Peacekeepers off. It makes me queasy.

Despite this being my first year of eligibility, and therefore having just one slip in the bowl, I'm painfully aware that I'm actually very likely to be picked. As random as they like to claim the reaping is, I know Victors' children always go into the Games. The Capitol can't resist the entertainment value of it. The child of someone who'd already won the Hunger Games was likely to make things more interesting. Plus they get to punish the Victors for having actually made it out alive by then taking away their kid. And if being the child one Victor wasn't reason enough for them to rig my reaping, I'm the son of two Victors.

James Potter, my father, won the 54th Hunger Games at the age of 16. He did so in a way no one else ever had before. Flying. It was the Capitol's own fault, really, for reaping a prodigy engineer and dumping him in a junk yard arena. They'd thought an urban arena would be an interesting change and James had flourished for their mistake. He built a rudimentary hovercraft engine from pieces of scrap, and then used it to fly over the other tributes. Any tribute that came too close was burnt to a crisp by the exhaust of the engine. James then became the darling of the Capitol, praised for his genius and paraded everywhere.

My mother, Lily Evans, won a couple Games later, in the 56th Games. She was 17. She was no mechanical genius like my father - not that the Capitol would make the mistake again of providing bits of machines for the engineers of District Six to exploit - but she excelled in her own way, in our district's secondary industry, medicine. Her score had been low due to her frailty and she'd played that weakness for all it was worth. Then when the arena was was revealed she was unstoppable. Her Games had been one of the scariest seen to date. The arena that year was bathed in complete darkness. Only the fancy cameras of the Capitol allowed the rest of Panem to witness it while the tributes could see nothing at all. Even the career tributes had been terrified when the muttations were released into the blackness with them. Lily wasn't phased though. Losing her sight only gave her slight pause before she fell back on her other senses to locate her weapon of choice, a medicine pack, and then picked off one by one not only the other tributes but a large number of the mutts as well.

They were the Champions of the Grey. District Six's pride and joy. The two of them had gotten married after her Games and had me the year after that. And then one more year passed before they both died in a mysterious train wreck on their way to the Capitol. Mysterious to Panem, but not to me. My parents had started getting vocal about their disdain for the Capitol. About the unfairness of the Games and how their son would inevitably end up in them. And about how the Victors were treated after winning. Lily had barely escaped forced prostitution to the highest bidders in the Capitol thanks to her very public romance, and later pregnancy, with another Victor. James hadn't been so lucky in his first year after the Games.

The Capitol doesn't exclusively use Victors for sex, of course. Had my father not had his looks then they would have put his genius to work instead. My mother they were content to use as a decoration and propaganda piece. Essentially, you win and the Capitol owns you. They can do anything and everything they want to you. Despite their struggles the two remained in love and had a short though happy marriage, but they soon found out what happens when you don't happily take everything the Capitol dishes out.

I was on that train too. Barely over a year old, it's something of a miracle I survived. I only came out of it with a jagged scar across my face. It's a distinguishing feature I'm rather proud of honestly. I think it looks cool, almost like a lightning bolt from my right temple to my left cheekbone, barely missing both my eyes. My scar is also a reminder, though, of the price of freedom. Take an inch from the Capitol and they'll take back a mile. Though it looks wicked, the scar is so clean that it does little to mar the good looks my parents' genes gave me. The genes that I know will land me in the same boat as my father if ever I win the Games. The unkempt jet black hair that I get from my father, and the emerald green eyes from my mother, have been the topic of many articles in the Capitol already.

All I have to do to know the truth of this fate is to look at the new darling of the Capitol. Finnick Odair of District Four won 4 years ago in the 65th Games. He was 14 then, the youngest winner of the games yet, but that didn't stop the Capitol from throwing lovers at him. These days he is always seen with a new lover, male or female, on his arm at every upscale ball, gala and party in the Capitol. I often wonder if both my father and Finnick took on an attitude like Nym's, of simply enjoying it because it's unavoidable anyway.

The truth is I'm in no real hurry to lose my virginity. And if I ever do, I know it wouldn't be with Nym. She was too much like a sister to me. I'm in even less of a hurry to lose my life, though I'm resigned to the fact that I'll likely die in the Games.

All my knowledge of the Capitol, the Games, and my parents, comes from one man named Sirius Black. He's a Peacekeeper. One of the few in Six that is actually from Six. He and my father had been close, before the Capitol took him. Sirius has watched over me since I was an infant. Though my custody went to my mother's sister, I spend a great deal more time with him than I do with my aunt Petunia. Especially since the time I started getting arrested.

"Don't joke about that Harry," Nym's voice interrupts my musings. She too is all too aware that it's not a joke anymore this year.

"Hey what-" comes the indignant cry of the Peacekeeper in her cell.

"I'm done." Nym informs him. "Thanks. We'll have to do this again some time." Her voice, though jovial, sounds hollow to me.

The Peacekeeper leaves her cell with a huff and passes in front of mine while still fastening his pants. He didn't bother locking Nym's cell behind him. She's likely to receive more visitors soon anyway.

I hear her rustling her clothes back into place before a soft thump tells me she's sat down with her back to the wall our cells share.

"It's not fair," she complains. I know she's referring to the fact that one day I will most assuredly be going into the arena. I agree that it isn't, but what can we do really? My parents spoke up about it and look where that got them. It got them dead.

"It's not likely I'll go in this year. I'm only twelve. Not much entertainment in that," I try to reassure her.

She gives another bark of laughter, this one completely mirthless.

"I wouldn't be so sure. They love getting the little ones in there. It's more painful for the families," she says bitterly.

"Maybe. But I don't have family," I rebuff.

It's true really. Aunt Petunia may legally have custody of me but she's never wanted me. Never loved me. She's barely even acknowledged my existence since the day I was handed to her. The only indication that she knows I'm there is the fourth plate she serves at the table for dinner. The other three being for her son, her husband and herself. My uncle and cousin are not pleasant people to be around so I make sure I'm not around. It isn't hard given that I technically owned two houses in the Victors' Village and my so called family only occupies one of them.

I realize a moment later that she was referring to herself and I feel guilt welling up inside me. I would never leave Nym if I had the choice. But I'm the poster boy of the Grey. Son of the Champions of the Grey. Six doesn't care about me like they did my parents. I think they feel they can't get attached to me because they know I'm going in and I'm not coming back out.

This time my musings are broken by Sirius. I hadn't even noticed him come up but there he is at my door, clad in his white Peacekeeper's uniform. He's a tall man, rather handsome in a rugged kind of way. He keeps himself clean, being a Peacekeeper and all, but there's always an air of fatigue, glumness even, about him. His bright blue eyes pierce out of the darkness that seems to surround him and weigh upon his shoulders.

"Alright you two. Get out of here. And try to stay out of trouble, will you?" he pleads with us exasperatedly. I roll off my cot as my surrogate uncle fumbles with the key for my cell. I know how worried he is this year and mentally I correct my earlier statement. I do have family. My Peacekeeper uncle, and my whore sister. And me, a 12 year old delinquent with no future, adored from a distance by the Capitol and forgotten in the Grey. What a strange family we make.

Nym slips out of her cell knowing it's rarely ever locked. I can see the tear tracks down her face, and her eyes, bright blue just like Sirius' eyes, are full of yet more tears. She plasters on a grin and tousles Sirius' hair, causing him to scowl at her. Her own hair is purple today.

"Later Black. Come play with me next time," she offers with a smile. She sends a wink my way before making her escape. Sirius shakes his head at her antics but I know a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never joins in on the "fun" with Nym like the other Peacekeepers do. She's like a daughter to him in the way that she's like a sister to me. That's not the only reason though. I know it's also because Sirius, though he wouldn't admit to it publicly, prefers the company of other men. But that was frowned upon outside of the Capitol. In there, no one has any real obligations. Out in the Districts though, if you weren't making more potential little tributes then you were neglecting an essential part of your duty. No one in Six would have cared, but Sirius is a Peacekeeper. He has to be the ideal of Panem, even behind closed doors. Or else. The Capitol truly was obsessed with with sex. Whether it's forcing it on you, or denying you its pleasures.

"Go on home, Harry. I'll see you after the reaping tomorrow, as usual," Sirius tells me as he finally gets the door open. I can tell he's trying to reassure himself as well as me. We always watch the Games together, Sirius, Nym, and I, but not because we enjoy it. Who but the freaks in the Capitol could enjoy such a thing? We watch the Games with their intended purpose in mind. To remind ourselves what it means to go against the Capitol. Sirius wants to believe this year will be like the last, and we will simply be watching them, not living them. My gut tells me otherwise.

I walk home, not having enough coin in my pocket to board a tram, so it takes me a good two hours in the vastness of Six. When I get there I immediately regret having come at all. Petunia is in hysterics over the reaping tomorrow. Dudley, my cousin, is only a few months older than I am, so this is his first reaping too. I try tuning her out. I understand her fears, really I do, but I can't help feeling they're unwarranted. Dudley Dursley has little to no entertainment value, and I just can't see him ever being reaped.

In a rare moment, Petunia seems to remember that I exist outside of needing to eat. She turns to me, her wide puffy eyes glistening with tears. Her hands grip my shoulders so hard it hurts. The fear and panic in her eyes is unmistakable, and for a brief moment I think she realizes how much more danger I'm in of being reaped than her pudgy son is. That isn't the case.

"If his name comes out tomorrow, you'll volunteer." Her voice is so matter-of-fact that it throws me for a loop, and it takes me almost a whole minute to realize she's giving me an order. Behind her, her husband Vernon is nodding his head in approval as if I'd already said "yes ma'am" or otherwise acknowledged her request as being valid.

"It's only right, after everything we've done for you," he says. A hate rises up from my gut so powerful I know it's showing in my eyes. My lip contorts into a snarl. Everything they've done for me, he says. They've been living off the money my parents left behind since they took me in. Vernon works in some car manufacturing plant but his income really only serves to add to their already lavish lifestyle. I want to scream and rip into them for everything they've done _for _me. Instead I ball my fists and bite the inside of my cheek. Vernon has never been above striking me and I don't want to deal with this today. I shrug off my aunt's hands, not bothering to grace them with a response, and I storm out of the house ignoring their shouts of surprise. They can't have truly expected me to agree to that, could they? I almost hope Dudley gets picked tomorrow, if only so I can watch them as I don't volunteer. I shove the thought away immediately. There may be a mutual dislike between us, but I shouldn't stoop to their level. I don't wish the Games on anyone. Except maybe Snow and his cabinet.

I head into the next house over and lock the door because I can still hear Vernon's angry yells behind me. My father held the deed to this one, though both my parents had actually lived here once they'd gotten married. I'm often grateful for this since it means Petunia can't touch anything physical left by my parents. Not legally anyway, and she knows if she ever got caught she'd likely be beaten to death for "resisting arrest" like everyone else.

This house is one of the few comforts I have in this world. It's the one place I know that isn't grey. Well, it is, but it never feels like the rest of the Grey. The walls are golden in the sun, and the furniture is a barely perceptible shade of heather. The air still holds an aromatic mix of the flowers I know my mom used to grow, and the machine oil of my father's tinkerings. It's all in my head, I know, but it's somehow just so much better than the ever present smell of gasoline that permeates everything in Six.

After I've calmed down some I look out the window. Victor's Village is just as grey as everything else in Six, but there's no Peacekeepers except at the gate. There's really no need since there are so few of us living here. There are only three actual Victors living in the Village. Arabella Figg, Remus Lupin, and Alastor Moody. Arabella was a lovely woman once. I've seen the old footage of her Games, the 27th Games, in which she camouflaged herself and simply outlasted all the other tributes. She's past her prime now, and sadly addicted to morphling like so many others in Six. She's the only Victor I've actually spoken to on occasion. When I was young, whenever I needed to escape the Dursleys I'd sit on her couch and play with her cat while she'd paint. Painting was her coping mechanism after she returned from the Games but most days it wasn't enough. I've been sad to see her paint less and less since her cat died, and instead rely on more morphling to keep her smile on.

Remus Lupin won the 23rd Games. I don't know how he won his Games and I will likely never ask. It's entirely possible that he too is on morphling but I don't know that either. He does not speak. Most of the time he remains catatonic in a chair by his living room window, but occasionally, when the full moon is visible, he will let out an agonized scream almost like he's howling at it.

Alastor Moody scares me. He's a crazy old recluse that won the 12th Games, and ever since then he's been paranoid. He lashes out at anyone who approaches him. He mentors the tributes every year since Remus won't move and Arabella doesn't have the presence of mind for it. Somehow I'm not surprised District Six has only had 5 Victors out of 68 Games. The last two of those 5 were my parents. My mother's house is now the Dursley's, and my father's is now mine. If I ever turn 18 I'll be able to kick out my worthless family. But I have my doubts that I'll ever even reach 13.

**Thanks for reading. For those of you who know my other story Gate Builders, I am still working on it. I will post the new version when I have finished Part 1. **

**This story was a plot bunny that wouldn't leave my brain so I took a break from Gate Builders to write it out. It's finished so I will be posting a chapter every week. Chapters will be short and unrefined. I didn't take much care writing it out. Sorry. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 2**

**The Reaping**

Justice Square, the plaza outside of the Justice Building, is completely full which is saying something. Like everything else in District Six the square is immense. And Grey. Everyone in the district with children of reaping age is required to attend the Reaping, as well as those children in question of course. Aunt Petunia is in the crowd somewhere with Vernon, crying. I don't look for her. If I'm picked and I never have to see her again I might just be glad of it. Her dismissal of any worth my life may have yesterday still stings, even though I know I should not have expected anything more from her.

I'm in the roped area designating the boys to be reaped this year. Youngest in front so we can get a good view of our first Reaping. Dudley is standing beside me, perhaps due to some deluded fantasy that being near me might spare him. His sniveling tells me he doesn't really believe it. I sneer at him in contempt.

Not wanting to look at my cousin more than I have to, I instead let my eyes wander around the stage ahead. Already up there, lurking in a shadowed corner, is Alastor Moody. He looks as unpleasant as ever, scowling at the crowd, his one eye darting around rapidly as if trying to see everything at once. That's why they call him "Mad Eye". He's going to mentor whoever gets reaped for the Games, like he does every year. It's not like there's anyone else for the job, Remus being catatonic and Arabella being on morphling. My parents would have taken over the mantle if they hadn't died so soon after their games. James had in fact mentored Lily in her Games only a couple years after his. I'm not entirely sure of the fairness of mentoring the woman you're going to marry when there's always another tribute from the same district you're supposed to mentor as well, but I wouldn't be here if he hadn't. Good luck to any tribute under Mad Eye's wing. Truly.

I turn my gaze over to the girls' area. They too are roped off, waiting for one of them to be reaped. One boy and one girl from District Six. I spy a familiar shock of color in the endless Grey. Nym's hair is still mostly purple, but she's dyed the middle orange and gelled it up like the crest of an exotic bird. Her dress is a deep blue with sequins that sparkle even in the dull overcast light. And it's ridiculously short. She catches my eye and gives me her signature wink.

A "Hem hem," calls my attention back to the stage. It's the unmistakable sound of Dolores Umbridge, Reaper for District Six for the past 7 years, clearing her throat in her sickly sweet Capitol accent. She a squat lady. Not obese but short and wide-framed. Her overly large mouth and too-far-apart eyes make her look something like a toad. She'd look even more like a toad if she'd dressed in green. She has in the past, but no. This year it's bubblegum pink. She makes me think of a sugar cookie.

"This year marks the 69th year of the Hunger Games. Almost 70! So exciting!" She closes her eyes and gives a joyous wiggle. I think I might puke. "In a moment we will be selecting this year's tributes. But first. A few words from your lovely mayor. Cornelius Fudge." She waves her hand in a grandiose gesture in our mayor's direction.

The Mayor is just as stout as she is. A bowler hat sits atop his head, and a large brush of a mustache protrudes from his upper lip. Unlike Dolores he did wear green this year. I don't have too much bad to say about the Mayor. I've met him a few times but we've never held a deep conversation. He's not bright or well liked or even useful but I can't fault him for it. It's hard to have any kind of influence in a district overrun with Peacekeepers. Fudge drones on, as he does every year, about the purpose and reason for the Hunger Games. How generous the Capitol was for not simply wiping us all out when we dared to not be content. I tune it out and amuse myself imagining their clothes swapped, his and Dolores. Possibly the mustache too.

Fudge is easy to ignore, but for Dolores' simpering voice it's unfortunately much harder.

"Thank you so very much for that lovely speech Mayor Fudge. Now to select our tributes." She closes her eyes in glee. "Ladies first!" She gives a happy giggle as she shuffles over to the bowl sitting on a stool in front of the girls' section. She dips her tiny hand into the bowl and rummages around. With a soft "Aha!" she snags a slip from within. She unfolds it in front of her face and pauses for dramatic effect.

"Nymphadora Tonks! Please step up, you lucky girl you!"

I feel a ball of ice drop straight into my stomach. Suddenly, I understand Petunia's callousness yesterday as my mind begs for anyone else at all to volunteer in her place. No one does of course. I watch her face go blank as she walks steadily towards the stage. The color I love so much about her seems to have faded entirely despite her still bright hair and dazzling dress. Once upon the stage she stares off into the distance. I desperately wish I could catch her eye again but I know she's not there anymore. She's turned the world off so she won't break down. I've seen her do it before and it hurts every time she does. This time it's a million times worse.

"And the boys," Dolores reminds us emphatically, as if we'd forgotten. She reaches into the bowl and plucks out one slip. Unfolding it theatrically she gives a delighted gasp of surprise.

"Harry Potter! Oh my goodness!"

The cold in my stomach disappears and is replaced by numbness. This I was expecting, but now that it's here I'm entirely less okay with it than I thought I'd be. Why don't they just call for Sirius to be executed too, and finish off my whole family while they're at it. But no, he has to watch us die in the Games first doesn't he. Dolores beckons excitedly for me to join her.

"Come on up, dear boy!"

Slowly my body responds to her summons, as if I'm no longer in control of it. Time almost seems to have slowed even more than usual is in Six. My fists clench at my sides and my teeth grind together. The Capitol took my parents, even after they both won their Games, and now they're going to take me. But worse than that, worst of all, they were going to take Nym. Poor Nym who'd never really hurt anyone but herself. I find that I cannot forgive the Capitol for any of it, not that I'd had any intension to in the first place. I feel a defiance welling up in me as I take my place on the stage beside Nym. Sh hasn't registered my presence yet. Probably won't until we're boarding the train for the Capitol. I don't know what I'll do with this defiance but for the first time ever I actually want to fight through the Games. I'm not just going to lay down and lose.

"My my my. Isn't this just so exciting?" Dolores is positively shaking in delight now. "To those of you who didn't make it this year, don't lose hope! There's always next year," she beams happily, seemingly unaware of how so very wrong her words are. "Happy Hunger Games everyone! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she concludes before turning to us both and ushering us through the back of the stage into the Justice Building, where we will wait for an hour. During that hour, anyone who wishes so can come and say goodbye to the tributes headed for death.

I know no one will come to see me off. They've no reason to. Oh, I've been on television and attended a party or two at the Mayor's, so they all know who I am. But despite being a celebrity in the Capitol, I'm hardly popular here in Six. I'm just a boy with too much money who is just going to die young. I'm used to that though. What really hurts is that no one cares enough to say goodbye to Nym. All of the lovers she's taken want nothing from her but her body, and normally that's alright. But not today. The Capitol has taken everything from her as well. Her father died before I was even born, while doing a top secret build for the Capitol. Some new kind of propulsion system that hadn't been stable is what she'd been told. Then her mother was taken by the morphling she used to dull the ache of his loss.

Nym had no real choice after that other than selling her drugs and herself to stay alive. I know the pain it causes her, to be spreading the substance that killed her mother. But the Peacekeepers don't pay for her body. They just take. If she wants to continue eating she has to traffic the morphling. Morphling that I know, despite trafficking being illegal, she gets from the Capitol medical liaison directly. And now everything that she's fought through has been for nothing, thanks to the Capitol's obsession with not just sex but violent and bloody death as well. Happy Hunger Games? There would never be anything even remotely happy about the Games. I draw my knees up to my chest as if they can ward off the negative thoughts from entering my heart.

The door clicks open and I raise my head in surprise. Sirius is standing in the doorway. It's not so much that I'd forgotten about him, but I hadn't thought he'd able to slip away from his Peacekeeper duties. Crowd control usually takes forever on Reaping Day. He crosses the room in a mere 3 long strides and wraps me tightly in his arms. He's shaking badly, and I so wish I could reassure him. That I could tell him somehow he isn't about to lose the last two people that matter to him. There's nothing I can say though, just as he can't seem to find words either.

"This can't be happening," he mutters in denial. After holding each other for several minutes I remove my arms from around him. He leans back, keeping his hands firmly on my shoulders. I can see his eyes are clear and he's not fooling himself one bit. Then that same defiance I felt in myself I now see rising up in Sirius.

"Harry," he begins seriously, "listen to Alastor, alright? He may look a bit scary but he knows what he's doing. He'll get you out of there." He truly believes what he's saying now. Which I find absurd, because Alastor Moody has only ever brought home 3 tributes. Remus, Arabella, and my father. I find it very hard to muster up that defiance again for myself, and I know instantly that it was never for me to begin with. I don't want to come out of that arena. I want to save Nym. My eyes harden and I can tell Sirius knows what I'm thinking because he starts to shake his head.

"Sirius, I'm not coming back. I'm getting Nym out," I tell him with finality. He closes his eyes against my words, trying not to hear them. I wouldn't be dissuaded though. Nym and Sirius are everything to me, and I would protect both of them with my life. Besides, only one Victor comes out of the Hunger Games. It couldn't be both of us, and I'd rather it be her than me.

I see defeat in Sirius' eyes as he realizes he can't change my mind. Then they become blank and I can't read him anymore. He's in Peacekeeper mode now, the side of him the is mature and realistic. I hate to see it but it's what I need from him right now. He pulls me back into a hug and holds me tight for another minute before releasing me.

"I need to go say goodbye to Nym," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. He stands to leave but pauses in the doorway. A tear breaks free of his emotionless mask as he turns back to me one last time.

"You keep on fighting until your last breath Harry. Don't lie down for them. Make them pay." And with those last words he's gone.

Faster than I care for it to be the hour is up and Nym and I are being led out of the Justice Building and onto the train. The ride will be short. The gleaming spires of the Capitol are visible in the distance from tall buildings in Six and likely will take at most a few hours to get to. Nym and I are sat around a dining table, which is covered in Capitol delicacies. Six isn't lacking in food per se, though many go hungry due to their drug habit taking precedence over eating. Still, the spread is impressive, or it would be if I thought I could keep any of it down. At the table are also Dolores Umbridge, and Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody. Dolores was her usual bubbly self, going on and on about the excitement of the Reaping and not being able to wait for the recap, as if any of us are listening. Alastor, for once, is not living up to his nickname as his eye is steadily trained on Nym and myself instead of bouncing wildly around the room.

Nym has come out of her trance but I can tell she's not ready to talk. Her hand found mine under the table the moment we sat down and hasn't let go of it since.

"Do eat something, my dears!" Dolores urges us once she realizes nobody is eating. Alastor grunts and takes a swig from a flask. She shoots a glare in his direction before schooling her features back into it's signature over-large smile.

"Now children, remember you're going to need your strength to survive the arena. Not to mention, you have training and Gamemakers to impress." Her tone patronizing and it beings to irritate me. I wish she'd go back to rambling so I could ignore her better.

"I'm so glad you're name came up Harry. Though I wish you'd waited another year," she pouts, as if I'd personally hurt her feelings by having my name come out of the bowl. "69 is such a random number. 70 would have been much more memorable for having reaped a winner." I meet her eyes for the first time and disguise not one drop of my hate. She gasps and actually jumps in her chair, and I repress a satisfied smirk.

"Well I never…" she trails off. She gives a little humph of indignation and hops down from her chair to shuffle out of the dining car, her nose held up in the air.

"We'll meet up in front of the television in two hours to watch the recap. Don't be late," she calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

After her departure we still sit in silence. Nym still clutches my hand but has yet to look at me. I can't think of anything to say but I'm getting tired of the silence. Even Dolores' yammering was less suffocating than the still air around us. Thankfully Alastor decides to break it.

"You are both going into the arena for the Hunger Games. Accept now the fact that you will die. Violently. Painfully. If, by chance, you survive to the end, only one of you will make it out of the arena alive. Face the reality that you may have to kill one another. You are not allies. You are not a team. You are alone in the darkness with nothing but your senses to protect you, and everything is out to get you." He pauses to let all this sink in. His voice is gruff and holds no compassion at all. He does not expect us to survive. I've already accepted my death so this is nothing new, but if he thinks I'm about to abandon Nym he's sadly mistaken. I squeeze her hand and she squeezes back, letting me know that, no matter what, we are still in this together. Alastor studies our faces and seems to be satisfied by what he sees because he gives a nod and leans back.

"My name is Alastor Moody. I survived the 12th Hunger Games," he introduces himself, as if there was anyone in Six who didn't know this fact. "To help mentor you through your Games I will need to know your strengths. What are your abilities? What can you do that sets you apart from your competition?" He asks us calmly. It seems that, despite not expecting us to survive, he's still going to give us any advantage he can. I have little confidence in his ability to do this. I know my parents won their Games by their own merit, and coaching can only get you so far. As if sensing my thoughts Alastor turns to me.

"Your father was a genius, and your mother a surgeon. You are neither. You are only a boy. So what can you do?" He's not taunting me, I can tell. He truly wants to know what I'm capable of. The problem is, I'm not capable of much of anything. I'm an average student at best, and I have no particular skill. Unless you count escaping from the Peacekeepers. I can run, I can climb, I can jump, and I know my way around a first aid kit well enough. Any one of those could be helpful in the arena, I suppose.

"I'm fast," I tell him finally. I'm a little confused though, as to why after making the point of telling us we're not a team he's having us reveal our strengths in front of each other. Not that we don't already know them. I've seen Nym do some amazing acrobatics. She's clumsy as hell when she's walking, but get her in a sprint and summersault and she's magnificent. When Alastor turns to her though, that's not what she tells him.

"I can make a man come in 30 seconds," she deadpans, looking straight into his one eye. I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. As horrible as this situation is, it won't change Nym. She's averted her breakdown, and now she's ready to face anything with a crude joke.

Alastor doesn't find it amusing though. He growls at her.

"Girl, if you don't want my help that's fine. But don't waste my time."

"She can jump 5 feet straight up and she's incredibly flexible," I tell him for her. She finally looks at me and gives me a playful pout for ruining her fun. Alastor nods approvingly.

"That's an impressive jump. Depending on what the arena looks like that could be useful-"

"How exactly do you expect to mentor us if you don't even know what the arena looks like?" Nym cuts him off. It's a fair point. I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps it's not all Alastor's fault that he can't seem to bring Victors home, if he can't know what to prepare tributes for.

"I can't prepare you for the arena, missy. But the Games are much more than the arena. It's a dog and pony show that begins the moment you are reaped, and ends with your death. No exceptions," he growls out irritably.

"Unless you win," she corrects. Alastor shakes his head, his one eye wide.

"Oh no, girl. You never leave the Games once you enter. There are no winners in the Hunger Games."

Nym's nose crinkles in confusion. She knows about the consequences of being a Victor. Sirius told her about it too. But the Victors still comes out alive while the rest of the tributes do not. They get a house, they get money. And while slavery to the Capitol doesn't sound like a very pleasant reward, it's still winning isn't it? It's that or being dead.

"What do you mean? You won the 12th Games, didn't you?"

"I survived them," he clarifies, "the lucky ones are the dead ones. You lose something much worse than your life if you live. You lose yourself."

**Screw it. I'm not going to post a chapter per week, I'm just going to post all of it now. I'm lucky this is even still here because my HDD just crashed and I lost all my documents. I uploaded all of this story earlier this week so I still have it, but I don't have any of Gate Builders anymore. Not a happy camper right now. Thanks for reading.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 3**

**Tributes**

As we sit together to watch the recap of the Reaping my mind wanders back to our conversation with Alastor. _You lose yourself. _That's what he'd said. It didn't make sense to me until he told us the story of Remus Lupin. The 23rd Games had been a night theme. The entire time in the arena, a large full moon hovered over the tributes, bathing them in silver light. It limited visibility and spooked the children. The Capitol ate that shit right up.

Remus Lupin was the boy tribute from Six. The girl tribute from Six was his little sister, Romulia. In the cornucopia bloodbath Romulia was injured. Remus, blind with rage and intent on protecting his sister to the bitter end, had fought off the other tributes with nothing but his hands and teeth. He clawed out eyeballs, snapped necks, bit out chunks of throats and crushed skulls. By the end he'd killed 17 of the 23 other tributes. Including his sister. Once he realized what he'd done he fell to his knees and howled. From that day forward he'd completely checked out. He wasn't on morphling. He didn't need it. His mind was gone, and it only ever returned to him during the full moon, when everything came rushing back only to leave again once his own screams lulled him to sleep. The Capitol could easily just let him die of starvation and dehydration, but instead they sent someone to change his nutrient drip every day. Just so that every month he would relieve what he'd done, and the Capitol could have someone to pity.

It's in that moment that I question my resolve to keep Nym alive and bring her home. Can I really wish this on her? I've known for many years that once you're a Victor the Capitol owns you, sells you, strips you of your dignity. But in all that time I'd never considered the worst part of being a Victor. You lose yourself. Every killing blow in the arena is a piece of yourself that you will never get back. Every potential death you escape in the arena is someone else taking your place. Guilt is an inevitable outcome of the Games. Guilt for surviving, and guilt for murdering. Guilt for the brief moments in which you allow yourself to forget.

Nobody ever leaves the Games. Nobody even really leaves the arena. And it doesn't stop with your Games either. If the guilt of surviving the arena wasn't enough to break you, then you had to mentor the subsequent tributes. Alastor has mentored 106 tributes before us. Every year one boy and one girl, and only one of them can come out. The survival of every one of them was in his hands. Only 3 had survived, and now only 2 are alive. The guilt of choosing one tribute out of two every year. The guilt of failing them when they die. But most of all, the guilt of condemning them if they survived. Remus Lupin would forever weigh on Alastor's conscience.

I think I can understand now, how my father's violation at the hands of the Capitol did little to obstruct his relationship with my mother. That was the least of his horrors. If prostitution were the only consequence I'd thought for sure if anyone can survive it it's Nym. But what was I really condemning her to if she came home? The guilt of my death? The guilt of survival, which she and I both already carried from the death of our parents, would only be more intense. I can see her now in my mind's eye, trapped forever in her trance, desperately warding off the breakdown which would only keep coming. My resolve is horribly weakened. I almost hope neither of us comes out of there, but I'm incapable of wishing for Nym's death.

My resolve weakens even more as I watch the recap. It starts with District Twelve, the poorest and least valued District. Coal mining is their industry, and it's entirely devoid of glamor. As always, ladies first, and it's another 12 year old like me. Ginny Weasley. She doesn't look happy but she's not as frightened as one might expect for a reaped 12 year old girl. That is until Percy Weasley, their shared carrot orange hair identifying him obviously as her older brother, is reaped for the boys. He looks to be 17 or 18, pencil necked and bespectacled, and definitely not cut out for coal mining with his tall and thin frame.

I wonder now if it's going to be a pattern this year - one 12 year old and one 18 per district - but District Eleven proves different. Angelina Jonson and Dean Thomas. Both in their mid teens, though Angelina is slightly older. Both are dark skinned and look strong, or at least healthy.

Ten. I pity Ten this year. Hannah Abott, a shy girl of 14 is picked, and is then joined by an equally shy boy of 13, Neville Longbottom. Both of them are small, slightly chubby, and shaking in their boots.

Nine is a surprise. For the district in charge of food production it's rare to see such regal and intelligent looking figures. Yet Daphne Greengrass and Roger Davies both look like royalty, overlooking their subjects from upon the stage. Daphne's immaculate blond hair pinned perfectly to show off dazzling green eyes. Not like mine but more of a pale, gem-like green. Roger Davies' dark hair makes his contrasting pale skin seem to glow. These two, I'm sure, will be getting a lot of attention if only for their looks.

Eight, by comparison is entirely ordinary. Lavender Brown and Michael Corner. Her pink skin and brown hair leave her looking drab, though she is surprisingly peppy for having been reaped. His complexion is similar, but his bored expression makes him entirely uninteresting.

Seven… Good lord, Seven scares me. Tracy Davis is pixie like with her tiny stature but the gleam in her eyes is gleefully murderous. Then comes Victor Krum. He's a beast of a man, hardly a boy at all, but he must be 18 at the most or he wouldn't have been reaped. He's tall, and muscular, and imposing. His parents have already named him Victor, that's how confident they must be in him. I would not be surprised at all if he came out on top in this Games. Nym's reaction is entirely different from mine, but not at all surprising.

"Hot!" she groans out huskily, drawing out the vowel. Her hands are firmly stuck between her legs as she presses her thighs around them. I blush slightly at this. I'm familiar with her sexuality, but most times I'm on the other side of a wall when I hear it. Being next to her on a couch while she's aroused isn't something I'm used to or particularly comfortable with. Neither is Dolores. I snicker quietly as her face contorts into shock and disgust.

Our mood is ruined quickly because we're next. Six. I watch both of us numbly walk up to the stage, not glancing at anyone, and staring off into space. We don't look particularly impressive, though at least Nym's short blue dress and orange crest of hair are eye catching. I supposed I'm already a celebrity so I'll have to rely on that to get me sponsors.

District Five's tributes, Cho Change and Adrian Pucey, are unremarkable. I find Cho's almond shaped eyes very intriguing, having never seen anyone with eye like that before, but otherwise the two of them are as banal as the tributes of Eight.

Four has two older tributes. Penelope Clearwater and Cedric Diggory. Both of them bronze haired and tan like so many from the sandy beaches of District Four. They, at least, stand a chance of making it out relatively unscathed. Four, Two and One being the Career Districts.

Three is not a Career District, as is proven by their tributes this year. Hermione Granger, buck toothed and frizzy haired, and Justin Finch-Fletchly, scrawny and pimply. Hermione appears about 16 while Justin is in his early teens. They're not quite as shaky as the tributes of Ten but they are pale and obviously frightened.

The tributes of Two are unpleasant. Pansy Parkinson and Marcus Flint are flat faced and mean. Their toothy grins tell what words could not of the unspeakable horrors they intend to dish out against their competitors. When Alastor tells us there are no winners of the Hunger Games I somehow doubt he was taking into account the Victors from District Two. They could probably win the Games and live happily ever after.

Lastly District One is shown. Though they are a Career District they're never quite as horrible as Two, or as desireable as Four. They're more pompous than anything else. Fleur Delacour and Draco Malfoy are truly beautiful tributes with their high class outfits and sleek platinum blonde hair, but they lack any kind of depth and come off as wannabe Capitolites.

Finally it's over. Dolores is gushing about how she so wishes she could be the reaper for One but we don't pay her any mind. We listen to Alastor who offers up his assessments of the other tributes.

"Avoid Two at all costs. They look vicious. I think your biggest threat will be Seven though. That there was no boy and their girl has spirit if nothing else."

"God I want to fuck him," Nym reminds us. Alastor narrows his one eye at her but doesn't acknowledge her remark.

"Also stay clear of Four. Those two are fishers so they'll be good with a spear," he continues.

"Oh, him too. He was yummy," she rubs her thighs together with a smirk. She winks at me and I realize she's needling Alastor on purpose. It works too.

"Damnit girl! Think with your head, not your nethers!" His face is wrinkled and pock marked so it's hard to tell, but I suspect he's actually blushing. I've never seen an old man blush.

"No can do, Mad Eye. I've got my priorities straight," she continues to tease. I'm worried about her now. She's not taking this seriously at all. I've never known her to really take anything seriously, but after her near breakdown I'd have thought this was one of the few things that phased her. That she'd know this wasn't a laughing matter and she may never come out of this.

"If you've given up, fine. But don't think I'll be collecting you any sponsors if you can't take this seriously." Alastor's tone is cold and I feel a twinge in my chest. She has given up. That's why she won't take this seriously. I suddenly want to cry. For her. For me. For all the other kids that have gone into the Games and never come out. For little Ginny and brother Percy, for the quaking Hannah and Neville, for the tiny but dangerous Tracy, even for Fleur and Draco with their ridiculous feathered hats. Also for Remus, and Arabella, and whoever came of the arena this year.

But I don't. I don't know why. I can feel the sobs stuck in my chest, wanting to burst out, and the prickling of tears in my eyes that wont fall.

"You said it yourself Mad Eye. I'm going to die. Might as well accept it and enjoy what time I have left," she tells him stiffly. And then she's on her feet, marching off in the direction of the sleep car. Then I realize why I can't cry. Because she wouldn't want me to. Not for her anyway. Alastor gives me a pensive look as if wondering if I'm going to walk out on him too. Well I'm not. Nym may have given up on herself, but I haven't yet. I still don't like the idea of her suffering for the rest of her life as a Victor, but there will never be a time when I'd rather see her dead. She will cope. Somehow.

I turn my attention to Alastor again, my resolve fortified again and ready to take any advice from him that'll get me, and by extension Nym, through the Games.

**Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 4**

**In the Styles of the Capitol**

This is my first time seeing the Capitol up close. It's funny, being so well known by the people here and I've never even been here. The crowds cheer as our train pulls in. The arrivals are staggered, like the Reapings, to allow for each District to get it's own spotlight. Despite the numbering having little to do with location, Twelve is the first to air a Reaping, and the last to arrive in the capitol. Normally with Six being in the middle most people leave for a break. But this year I'm here.

The Boy-Who-Lived, they often call me - because I survived a train wreck that nobody else aboard did - among other silly nicknames. If I were from One this attention might have gone to my head, but since I'm from the Grey I know better than to think myself important. Still, I wave to the crowds, trying to salvage my unimpressive Reaping and gain some sponsors.

The first event upon our arrival is a chariot parade tonight. All 24 tributes will be shown off in front of the cheering crowds, so that betting can begin on the likely winners and sponsors can chose their favorites. The parade ends at President Snow's Mansion, where he will give a speech and welcome us into the Capitol.

We arrive at the prep stations where the tributes from One through Five are all ready meeting with their prep teams and stylists. Each tribute gets their own prep teams to make them look as interesting as possible. My preps team is made up of a pair of dark skinned twins, Padma and Parvati, and a fake tanned, almost orange, man named Blaise. Parvati is the exuberant one of the two twins, wearing a red and gold dress that fans out around her knees, with her hair braided into a tall winding tower atop her head. Padma is more subdued in demeanor but no less flashy in appearance. Her dress is ruffled and blue with bronze highlights, while her hair, also braided, forms a loop on either side of her head. Blaise is less flashy and rather short tempered. He's wearing tight black pants and a simple but elegant green silk shirt that leaves a lot of hairless chest showing. His face and hands are covered in swirling silver tattoos that remind me of waves or maybe snakes.

As for me, I'm unceremoniously stripped naked. I hear the twins talk about how I'm too young to require depilation. I've barely grown two hairs on my chest and maybe a little dark fuzz on my arms. Blaise argues that, just in case, I should be waxed to maximize the impact of my youth. So they lay strips along my arms, legs and chest, and rip them away, pulling what little hair I do have out of my body. I yelp the first time but bite my tongue the next when Blaise tells me to be quiet.

I can imagine the trouble Nym is giving her prep team right now. She loves to dress in flashy clothing but only on her terms. And I don't think a waxing is something she'd ever consider submitting to.

Once the prep team has my body hairless, they try to tame the hair on my head but to no avail. I wouldn't put it past them to wax that too. But in the end Blaise dumps what I'm sure is an entire gallon of product into my hair and has it all standing straight up. It looks absolutely ridiculous. When the stylist comes in, dismissing my prep team, she introduces herself as Malkin.

It's a little bit embarrassing to be standing completely naked in front of a woman but she makes me feel comfortable enough by not looking anywhere awkward. The stylists try to make their tributes stand out in one way or another. Generally that means emphasizing our district's industry. Apparently we're going with a windswept or jet-washed look this year. According to Malkin we're going to be emphasizing the speed that comes with transportation. To anyone who actually knows Six, this is just plain silly. Nothing is fast about Six, and I'm almost convinced the trains only seem to go fast by comparison. And that's probably only because they can't wait to get away from the Grey.

Well unfortunately for me, the Grey followed me here. The outfit Malkin presents me with is a steel grey jumpsuit. The seams are all lined with a luminous blue strip. This is meant to be reminiscent of the glowing blue exhaust of a hovercraft. Streamers, a mix of grey and luminous blue, cling to the shoulder pads and forearms of the jumpsuit, and will flap behind me in the breeze once the chariots are going.

Thankfully the outfit is comfortable because I have to wait in it for another couple of hours while the last of the tributes arrive. Malkin assures me the fabric is water repellent so even if I sweat I shouldn't embarrass myself when I wave to the crowds.

When it's finally time Malkin touches up my make-up and guides me to the chariot for me to wait. Other tributes are piling into their chariots, some nervously, some confidently, all with outrageous outfits of one form or another.

One is, of course, in feathers. Nothing says luxury like soft dyed feathers and smooth velvet. Draco being so much shorter than the etherial Fleur, makes him look more like a duck or a chicken next to her swam look.

Two is in leather overalls,which I suppose is to represent their primary industry of Masonry. They've tried to make Pansy and Marcus look sexy, with the front of the overalls barely covering her small breasts and his muscular chest, both of which are coated in shiny oil.

Hermione and Justin from Three are in tight bodysuits covered in circuit-board patterns. Both of their heads have been buzzed and they look rather robotic.

Four is themed but less obviously. Penelope is wearing a flowing dress that hugs he body until her knees and then flares out. The dress is a bright ocean blue at the torso and fades into a pale sea-foam green at the bottom, like a wave crashing upon the shore. Cedric, on the other hand, wears a navy blue suit with a high color and puffy shoulder pads, and a white sailor cap.

Five's industry is power, so it's no surprise to see them in plain white hazard suits, bright reflective safety jackets, and protective helmets. I feel bad for Cho and Adrien for their stylists' lack of creativity.

Behind me are is the other half of the tributes so I have to crane my neck to see them. Tracy and Victor of Seven are dressed as trees. If I thought the stylists for Five lacked creativity, the ones for Seven must not have a creative bone in either of their bodies. The District of Lumber has been trees in the parade for ages and it's obviously not about to change. Tracy catches me looking and sends me a threatening glare.

I look away quickly to take in the tributes behind her. Lavender and Michael's outfits are positively laughable. They can hardly be called clothing at all, more like heaps of excess fabric sewn around them. Eight being the District of Textiles it does fit the industry but it looks more like a lack of effort than anything else.

Daphne and Roger who looked so regal in the recap, now look like a couple of farmers. Grain is their industry in Nine, but really they'd have looked better in their Reaping clothes.

It's hard to see further back so I'm not quite sure about the last three, but it looks like poor Ten is in cow themed costumes for the industry of Livestock. I think Eleven is dressed as fruit trees and Twelve is wearing headlamps and soot.

Eventually Nym joins me in our chariot and I look her over. Her outfit is very similar to mine, but rather than a full jumpsuit, hers stops above her bust. Straps made of the luminous blue strips arch over her shoulders to keep it from falling. Her streamers are, rather than being attached to her bare shoulders, connected to a steel choker around her neck, and to steel bracers on her forearms. Her hair, keeping in the tradition of changing nearly every time I see her, is now black and swept back, sticking out behind her like it's being blown in the wind. Those glowing blue highlights have been woven into her hair as well.

As ridiculous as I feel, she looks stunning. She turns towards me with a disgruntled frown on her face. I see her eyelids have also been painted that same electric exhaust blue. I give her a smirk.

"Did you enjoy the waxing?" I tease. Her wicked grin in return surprises me.

"I've always wanted to get a brazilian," she tells me, wiggling her hips a little.

"What's a brazilian?" I ask her curiously. Her grin grows wider and she leans in.

"It's when they wax absolutely everything down there. Even my crack and my lady bits." She emphasizes each syllable of "absolutely" and bursts out laughing when my eyes widen and my jaw drops. I'm saved from having to respond when Malkin walks up to our chariot and calls me back down or a moment.

"Just a finishing touch now Harry. Hold still," she says lifting a brush up to my face. I can feel the brush tracing along my scar, and I realize she's painting it with the same blue color as the rest of the highlights. I stifle a groan. I like my scar, but this is beyond ridiculous. I must look like a damn Capitolite. Once she's finished she beams at me.

"There, that's perfect. Up you go now. It'll start any minute." And with that she shuffles away in the manner only Capitol women can. I take my place next to Nym once more and turn so she can get a look at my face. She snorts in her usual unladylike fashion.

"You look so silly!" she exclaims.

"So do you," I retort with a pout.

The chariots lurch forward and Nym barely grips the side in time to keep from falling over. I snicker at her and she shoots me a playful glare. The cheering of crowds draw our attention forward. I catch a glimpse of myself on one of the many floating screens. It's a close up of my face, showing a glowing blue lightning bolt across my face. I barely hold in another groan that bubbles up. Alastor had warned us, among many things, to remain constantly vigilante. In fact he'd shouted it at us repeatedly. By this he means we must always be aware of what the audiences, particularly the sponsors, will see. If we show weakness, aggravation, or boredom they will lose interest. My lack of emotion at the reaping was already detrimental to my image so now I have to play it up. So I swallow my groan, plaster on a huge grin and raise my fist into the air. All for the sake of sponsors.

The crowd goes wild for it. I hear my name being chanted over and over as we approach the President's Mansion. Clearly, I must be a favorite of the crowd. None of the others are known yet, while my face has been in magazines since birth. I struggle to keep my grin on as we get closer to the mansion. Straight ahead is the man who killed my parents. I harbor no thoughts of revenge, though I have dreamed of it on occasion. The Districts all fought against the Capitol seven decades ago, and were overcome. Thirteen was obliterated even. What hope do I, one boy, have of taking on such a powerful enemy? No, there would be no revenge. But that didn't mean I couldn't hate his guts and wish him dead. My grin finally falters when I catch a glimpse of him.

President Snow is standing at his balcony, overlooking our chariots as they come to a halt in front of his mansion. I can't see him clearly but his shock white hair and beard are unmistakable. He raises his arms to quiet the crowds and they do so obediently.

"Welcome, tributes, to the Capitol," he begins slowly, "We thank you for your courage, and your sacrifice." He pauses, his eyes sweeping over us. I can almost feel his gaze lock onto mine but the distance is too great.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." The crowd cheers again as he finishes. It's a short speech, and despite his words it feels like a dismissal. Our chariots lurch again and we're heading away from the mansion. Snow has already left the balcony but my eyes are still glued to the spot where he stood. I don't notice I'm shaking until Nym grasps my hand in hers.

I look up at her in reassurance. I'm fine after all. There is no sense in stewing in my own hate when I have days left to live. I give Nym a small smile.

"So. How come they call it a brazilian?" I ask. She laughs.

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

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**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 5**

**The Days Before **

The chariot drop us off at the Training Center where we'll spent the last few days before the Games. The Training Center is a tower with a cafeteria on the ground floor, 12 floors above that and a gym below it. Each District gets a floor, hence 12 of them. Our District being Six, we're on the 6th floor up. Most of our time is to be spent in the gym. Down there they have training stations for a variety of skills that may be required in the arena, from wilderness survival techniques to fencing. Once we arrive in the morning of the next day I spend a fair amount of time at the survival stations, learning skills like how recognize viable food sources and camouflage. I hope I'm retaining enough of this information. I've seen several Games in which hiding or feeding yourself were more important than the tributes' ability to kill each other. Still, I don't neglect the weapons training either.

While I've been honing my skills as much as possible in our limited time, Nym has been flirting. It only took her half the day to seduce Cedric Diggory from Four. They found a corner in the gym and enjoyed each other shamelessly, much to the dismay of Cho Change from Five. The hulk of a boy that Nym seems to want so badly, Victor Krum, is going to be a challenge to her though. He seems to have his eye on Hermione Granger from Three. Though her appearance in the Reaping had been goofy and awkward, the tight training suit did her many favors. She'd chopped off her long frizzy hair for the parade too, which improved her look significantly and removed a weakness that could easily have been used against her.

Romance, or at least coupling, in the Games isn't unheard of, but it rarely continues once in the arena. Any coupling that does happen in the arena is out of desperation or for dominance, neither of which is pleasant to watch. Having to kill one another is something of a turn off I guess.

It's good to see Nym at least enjoying the time she has left. I do wish she'd put in some training though. It hurts knowing she's not even going to try, but it just makes me try all the harder.

Alastor's advice is to train with everything we're not already good at, in order to maximize our adaptability and not expose our true strengths to the other tributes. It's not like I have experience with anything here though. Six is an urban vastness with no wilderness to forage from, no game to be hunted - not that it would be legal to hunt if there were- and no violent crime other than that of the Peacekeepers. That means no weapons, which are also illegal anyway. I remind myself what I told Alastor our strengths are. Speed and agility. To hide these strengths I chose the sword. It's heavy, slow, and cumbersome. Not at all something I'd go for in the arena. I feel I've gotten better over the past few days but once in the arena I'm more likely to use a knife rather than a sword, and dodge rather than block. I barely manage to fend off Tracy Davis' vicious swipes as we spar together. She tiny and pixie-like but she's several years older than me. And she's not holding back her strengths one bit. Being from Seven the ax is her friend, and it shows as she wields twin hatchets against me.

With a surprisingly strong swing, one of Tracy's hatchets pins my sword to the ground. I try to yank it free of her hold but the gleam in her eyes seems to freeze time. We're not allowed to seriously hurt each other in these sparring sessions, because it would be unfair to pick each other off before the arena. The Capitol needs to see our brutal deaths after all, and down here there are no cameras. So for this reason, it surprises me when she draws back her second hatchet and launches it straight for my face. As it comes nearer I notice the feeling of time freezing wasn't an illusion.

Time really has slowed to a crawl, but I feel normal. Then my flexing muscles contradict that thought. My body is just as slow as the rest of the room, but my mind is running at full speed. I force my body to move as the curved ax blade comes closer, and agonizingly slowly I twist out of its path. My sword comes free effortlessly, as if the slowed time has multiplied my strength tenfold. It takes a moment to realize I've lost control of my body. I feel myself swing the sword around, using the momentum of my elegant twirl to bring my blade in a deadly slice towards Tracy's neck.

I'm not ready to kill. With an enormous effort I put all my will into stopping the blade before it decapitates the girl in front of me. It hangs mere millimeters from her throat when time suddenly returns to normal. I'm panting from my effort, and she's frozen in terror. Her eyes find mine as she begins shaking in relief when she realizes she's not dead. For the first time I see fear replace the murderous gleam in her eyes. The instructor breaks us up, calling us crazy and telling us to save it for the arena. I'm not listening. _What the hell was that?_

I let the sword clatter to the ground as I walk away from the sparing stage. Now I'm the one trembling in fear. I've felt adrenaline before, but this was so different. I'm convince that time actually slowed for me to avoid that hatchet. How though? Could there have been some sort of force field halting our movements? Or was it some kind of magic? Either way, I'm done for the day. The thought of that brief instant in which I was no longer in control of my own body makes me shudder. Figuratively not having control over my body, the way I imagine I wouldn't if I were to fall into my father's position, scares me enough already. But literally having my body act on it's own is terrifying. My mind flashes back to Alastor telling us about Remus Lupin, who lost himself to instincts, and then immediately to regret. I'm gripped with fear that I will follow his example, and in my desire to protect Nym I'll end up killing her myself.

I sit myself up against a wall and let the tremors rack my body. As they subside I calm my mind. Time couldn't have slowed. It had to be an illusion. And I must have, at least on a subconscious level, meant to retaliate against Tracy's attempt to kill me. Natural instincts must have taken over. I still had the presence of mind to not follow through and that is what will set me apart from Remus Lupin. I will henceforth always be aware of what my body is doing in a combat situation, and prevent myself from committing the unthinkable.

I glance at Tracy from across the room, where she too is taking a breather to pull herself together. She eyes me warily and I know she'll be avoiding me as much as possible once in the arena. I bested her when she thought she'd won, and she's not going to forget that easily.

Feeling renewed I stand and collect my sword from the ground. It feels heavy once more. Not really wanting to fight another tribute yet I make my way to the dummies to practice my swings. The dummies have limited motion sensing that allows them to respond to your movements. They won't attack in return but they will attempt to block your strikes. I raise the sword up with body hands, positioning myself in the ready stance I'd been taught only an hour ago. I make a few halfhearted swings at the dummy, which are all easily blocked. Behind me I hear the mocking laughter of Draco Malfoy, the boy from One.

Looking back I see him pointing in my direction while conversing with the other Careers. They think I'm easy prey. I close my eyes while taking a deep breath. I let it out slowly before opening my eyes again, focusing them on the target in front of me. I should not be drawing attention to myself. Them thinking me weak will work to my advantage. It's the Gamemakers I need to impress. But my pride is wounded and I need to take my frustration out on something. I pull my arms back slightly before I swing the sword laterally with all my might, trying to decapitate the dummy but knowing it will be blocked.

It only takes a moment to register that time has slowed again and sword feels nearly weightless. _What is going on? _The dummy brings up it's sturdy metal arm in slow motion. It locks into place, protecting its neck, just before my sword makes contact. But my sword doesn't stop. I see the metal arm bend and then shatter into fragments as my sword continues unimpeded into the dummy's neck which suffers the same fate. As my body follows the swing, my shoulder pointed out and the sword now behind me again, I expect time to return to its usual pace. Instead, my body acts on it's own again. With the sword still held behind me, my hands turn it so it points forward. Then my body lunges, stabbing the sword straight through the dummy's chest.

With that action complete I regain control and time as I know it returns. I'm shaking again but I try to hide it as best I can. I let go of the sword's handle and it remains stuck to the hilt in the dummy's torso. I spare a glance back at the Careers to find them speechless. I'm speechless too. The sheer power behind that swing is not something I would ever be capable of. And yet I did it. And time had slowed again. And I'd lost control again. This is no primal instinct rising up in me. There is something definitely wrong with me.

I feel an arm wrap around my shoulders and look up to find Nym giving me a worried look. She leads me away from the gym and back up to our floor. When we exit the elevator into our suite she turns to me.

"You alright, Harry?" she queries cautiously. I struggle to meet her eyes, not knowing how to respond. I'm not alright. I don't know what is happening to me.

"Did you see what I did?" I ask instead of answering. She nods.

"I had no idea you were so strong Harry. That was pretty impressive," she still sounds worried but I can tell she doesn't grasp what really happened. She's only worried because I was shaking. And I have no intention of telling her I keep losing control. She'd only worry more and I don't want her to worry.

Dinner is a silent affair. Even Dolores can somehow sense the tension and only makes a few remarks about dessert and champagne. Alastor eats a minimal amount, scrutinizing every bite before putting it into his mouth. He only ever drinks from his flask, not his glass. Nym shoots me glances all evening which I try to respond to with a smile.

When it's time for bed we head to our rooms. Before separating I give Nym a long hug, letting her know as best I can that I'll be okay and telling her not to worry. I head to sleep and do my best not to think about what happened in the gym today. As I drift off to sleep I know right away I've failed.

The dream starts with the cornucopia. 24 tributes rise up out of their tubes to stand on their platforms, waiting for the count down to finish. I look around me as the faces come into focus. Tracy, Daphne, Draco, Cedric. All of this year's tributes are here. And there's Nym, smiling at me from the next platform over. Suddenly the buzzer sounds and we're off, racing for the center to reach a weapon, supplies, anything we can get ahold of before the others do. Without thinking my hand grasps a sword and everything is instantly in slow motion. All the other tributes have gathered around me, each of them holding a weapon. For some reason they don't turn on each other but focus only on me.

One by one they attack, and one by one I slaughter them. My sword slices limbs from their bodies, stabs into their necks and bellies. Blood is flying everywhere, coating my blade, my arms, my face. Finally every last one of them is dead, and I'm standing over their bodies, dripping. I spin in a slow circle to survey my kills. One tribute is still standing, her hands grasping her stomach and blood seeping through her fingers as if she's holding in her intestines. It's Nym. I reach out my hand to help her somehow, only to realize I'm still holding my sword and now it's jabbed straight into her heart. She falls to the ground off the end of my blade, leaving me looking at the reflective golden surface of the cornucopia behind her. And there I see myself, bathed in blood, sword in hand. My bright green eyes are now crimson. I look like a demon. Then my image throws its head back and releases the most maniacal laugh I have ever heard.

I bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. I look around wildly and the sight of my lush Capitol room greets me. Only a dream. My face drops into my hands in relief, until I realize it's wet. Panicked I rush into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. It's not blood, just sweat and tears. I collapse in a heap on the bathroom floor, shaking and sobbing quietly.

The next day I'm still confused but I pull myself together. Worrying about this won't get me or Nym through this. I'm about to find another training station when Draco approaches me with an offer.

"You know, you're pretty strong Potter. We could use a guy like you in our pack. What do you say? Join us and weed out the weak so the real Games can begin?" If I hadn't been completely cold to his offer in the first place, his insincere smirk would have turned me off it. He holds out his hand for me to shake but mine remains at my side. His smirk disappears into a scowl.

"Don't be a fool, Potter. You're not the only son of a Victor here. My father is Lucius Malfoy. Winner of the 44th Hunger Games. This alliance is your only chance," he warns, eyes flashing dangerously.

With the crowds chanting my name in the parade I hadn't realized there were other noteworthy tributes in our lot. Now it makes sense why a 14 year old like Draco had been picked for District One, where they normally train until the age of 18 before volunteering. I'd be lying if I said I'm not even a little scared of Draco and the other Careers. I'm terrified, not for myself but for Nym. I can only fight off one at a time, maybe two. They are five in all. Draco and Fleur from One, Marcus and Pansy from Two, and Daphne from Nine. They're last member is surprising. Nine is so far from being a Career District I can't quite understand why she's with them. Maybe it's her regal looks and gem-like eyes. They certainly seem to be captivating me at the moment.

I tear my eyes away from hers to look back at Draco. His hand has dropped finally and he's glaring daggers at me. I roll my eyes in return.

"I think I'll find my own friends, Draco. But thanks for the offer." With that I turn my back to him. It's a bold move but he can't hurt me before the arena. Not unless he wants to be penalized. He proves his intelligence by letting me walk away.

I decide to look for the fishing station. Unsurprisingly, the tributes from Four haven't gone near it. They know all about fishing. I find myself feeling jealous at the unfair advantage some districts have in the Games. After my father so utterly dominated his Games, Six won't be getting an arena advantage any time soon. Once I reach the fishing station I notice Ginny Weasley and her brother Percy are already there. Ginny is learning, but Percy's eyes keep darting over to Penelope Clearwater of Four as if hoping she will come over. That's a crush that won't last long in the arena, I'm sure. As soon as he sees her for the Career she is he'll forget all about her stunning features. Or at least I hope so for his and his sister's sake.

Though now that I think about it, neither the boy nor the girl from Four have joined this year's Career pack. Cedric is huddled in a corner, sharing a hushed conversation with Nym. Penelope is alone, practicing her spear throw. They're both older than Draco, who seems to be the leader of the pack this year, and I suspect they don't want to follow the orders of someone less experienced in the arena.

Ginny glances up in my direction as I come to stand next to her. I give her a polite nod which she returns with a stare and a blush. I grumble mentally about the sheer amount of romantic thoughts that seem to be floating around the Training Center. Is it really this common for tributes to form bonds of affection right before having to kill each other? I have no real desire to befriend anyone here. Not when Nym's life means their death.

"Want me to show you how to make a net?" Ginny asks me shyly. Her face is so innocent. She's 12 year old like me, and I can see in her eyes that she's seen hardship. But she's not bitter like I am. I could tell from her reaping that she's more afraid for her brother than for herself. I admire that strength in her character. I decide to humor her, and admittedly I'm curious about her.

She shows me how to make a net, patiently explaining the weave as I get it wrong a dozen times. Her eyes twinkle every time I make a silly mistake, and giggles when I become tangled in my own net as I struggle to complete it. It's the first time in my life that I feel like a child. Too soon the moment is over as my net is finished. We lapse into silence for a moment.

"Thank you, Ginny," I say finally. She gives me a bright smile.

"You're welcome," she responds.

I return her smile as I try to think of something else to say. She beats me to it though.

"So what's Six like?" she asks curiously. I smirk at the thought of home, so drab on its own already, but impossibly so in comparison to the extravagance of the Capitol.

"It's big, grey, and boring. And unless you're smart enough for engineering or medicine there is absolutely nothing to do except take morphling to pass the time." I say this in a dull tone. Six is home, but only because Nym and Sirius make it so. Six treats me with indifference, and I treat it the same. Ginny eyes me carefully as if trying to determine whether I'm currently on morphling.

"Oh," she says simply, so for the sake of conversation I return her question.

"What about Twelve? Coal mining? Is that any fun?" She blushes slightly.

"Ah, well see, there's kind of two-" she pauses to consider her words, "-factions I guess, in Twelve. There's the merchants, or townspeople, and then there's there miners in the Seam. Dad owns the junk shop so we've never been in the mines except my oldest brother Bill."

"You have a lot of brothers?" I ask.

"Six of them," she tells me nodding. "I'm the youngest and the only girl besides my mom."

"So how come only the oldest works the mines?"

"Town people and Seam people don't get along. The Seam is incredibly poor and they resent the merchants. And the merchants think the Seam people are dirty and beneath them. It's really sad. Bill was only able to get the job because my father is willing to trade instead of taking coin." She blushes again and this time it's more than a little embarrassment. "Unfortunately that means we're nearly as poor as the Seam so no one really likes my family." She trails off bitterly. I guess I was wrong about her. Her sweetness hides a lot of the anger and humiliation she feels.

I've never been poor myself. Sirius has never been poor. Nym, on the other hand, has lived in poverty since she was young. She's much too proud to take anything from either of us other than our love, so I know the humiliation poverty brings even if I haven't lived it.

Despite my disinclination, Ginny and I quickly become friends. I'm already regretting letting myself open to the idea. The thought of having to kill her turns my insides out. But I know if it were her or Nym, I would choose Nym.

**Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

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**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 6**

**Final Preparation**

I haven't been able to sleep since that nightmare a couple nights ago. It's starting to show in the bags under my eyes, and my sluggish movements. Ginny and I have been training together, and it's hard not to tell that as my movements get slower and less precise, hers are improving in leaps and bounds. She's a very fast learner and has been developing a deadly accuracy with ranged weapons. I, on the other hand, can't bring myself to touch another weapon.

Nym, interestingly enough, spent most of her time with Cedric. I guess she gave up on Victor and just went for the easier catch.

Today we receive our individual evaluations. We'll each have a fifteen minute private training session in front of the Gamemaker in the hope that we'll impress them. Impressing them means a high training score, and a high training score means more sponsors. The scores range from 0 to 12, though no one has ever gotten a 12 or a 0. I just hope I get better than a 5. Anything under that is essentially a death sentence. No one will want to sponsor you, and the Careers will make a point of weeding you out of the competition quickly.

Alastor is giving us a last minute lecture before we head down for the evaluations. I still have no idea what I will show them. Alastor says to show them our best, and what we'll be most likely to display in the arena.

"Harry, you run. You're fast so show them your speed. Throw in some simple acrobatics if you feel confident but don't do anything you're not certain you can perform. You do not want to slip up during this session." He turns to Nym and takes a breath as if to tell her what to do before thinking better of it. She won't do anything he tells her to do so there's no point. Any advice he gives she's likely to do just the opposite so it's probably better to keep his mouth shut. He ushers us over to the elevator and we ride down to meet the Gamemakers.

Most things in the Hunger Games start with the ladies. But private training sessions and display of our training scores are boys first. I think it's probably completely arbitrary - just a way to keep it balanced - but I'm no Gamemaker so what do I know. Draco is the first called, and ten minutes later he emerges looking smug. I wonder if he just smooth talked the Gamemakers while he was in there.

One, Two, Three, Four and Five have gone in, and all too soon it's my turn.

"Harry Potter, District Six," a female voice beckons. I shakily stand and start on my way in but Nym stops me. I look up into her face questioningly. She gives me a small smile.

"Harry, I know you don't want to but show them what you did on the first day of training," she says firmly. My face feels cold as the blood drains from it. The distorted time, the colossal strength, the loss of control. I've tried my best not to think about it since the first day.

"I- I don't know if I can, Nym. It scares me," I admit softly. She pulls me into a comforting hug.

"Just try. It'll impress them."

She releases me and shoos me off in the direction of the gym. I step in to see that it has changed since yesterday. The survival stations have been cleared away and all that remains is a few obstacles and several racks of weapons. I hesitantly stand before the Gamemaker's who are busy enjoying a party in the box that overlooks the gym. The Head Gamemaker, Ludo Bagman, laughs at something being said in the box, and then seems to spot me out of the corner of his eye. He turns to face me fully, suddenly grinning.

"Harry Potter of District Six. I've been looking forward to seeing you perform. You may showcase any talent you wish. You have fifteen minutes," he tells me casually. I stand still for a beat or two, unsure if I'm supposed to respond or bow or something. I settle for a nod and take my place at the beginning of the obstacle course. I take a deep breath, hold it a moment, and then let it out slowly. And then I'm off.

My lack of sleep becomes inconsequential once the adrenaline is pumping. I pick up speed extraordinarily fast, and reach the first obstacle in what must be record time. I scale the 7 foot wall as if it's not even there, planting my feet on the top and launching myself forward to the next wall. The walls get farther and farther apart and soon I'm leaping from one to the next with only my finger tips to catch on. I don't slow down. Next are the lateral bars. I swing from bar to bar, clearing 5 foot gaps with ease. After the bars comes the rope net. I've never encountered an equivalent to this in Six, so it took me all week of training to get used to it. I climb the rope net swiftly, with few fumbles which I recover from without much delay. I chance a glance at the Gamemakers and Ludo Bagman doesn't look impressed. He looks bored.

That's when I realize the Gamemakers don't care about how fast I am. Alastor may be right that I should play to my strengths but that's not all that's important. They want a show. A boy who can run and climb is good for a few minutes of entertainment at best. So, when I reach the platform at the top of the rope net, instead of continuing on to the hanging rings I do a back flip off the platform. I land in a crouch on the mat below, and turn towards the weapons.

I haven't touched anything long and sharp since the first day of training but I need to do this. My stomach flips as I reach for the handle of a sword. Finally my finally my fingers curl around it and then nothing. I'm fine. I don't know what I'd expected. A nervous break down? Losing control and killing someone maybe? But now with the heavy handle in my hand I feel perfectly calm.

As I pull the sword from the rack, I look around for a target. The dummies are at the opposite end of the gym. At first I think about running over to them but I stop myself. I'd probably look silly running with a sword half my size. Instead I draw the sword behind me as if to swing at the empty air.

This time I notice immediately when time starts to slow. The incessant babble from the viewing box becomes deeper and distorted. I hear my heartbeat resound in my ears, a full second separating each thud. My breath releases from my lungs in a steady stream, and then rushes out all at once in a war cry as I hurl the sword toward the dummies at the other end of the gym. I watch as the sword flips end over end, whistling all the way across the room until the tip sinks into one dummy's chest. The force of impact is so great that the dummy slams into the wall behind it and stays there. The sword now impaling its chest has embedded itself a whole foot into the concrete wall of the gym.

The world picks up speed again but now there is silence. I'm breathing heavily again. The effort of throwing the sword far exceeds my previous efforts at appearing nimble. I turn my gaze from the dummy to check on the Gamemakers' reaction. Most are wide eyed and gaping, but Ludo Bagman looks like the cat that got the canary. I give a slight bow to indicate I'm done and Bagman gives me a nod in return to dismiss me.

As I'm leaving the gym I spot a couple of trainers attempting to pray the sword out of the wall but they're not having any success. I'm at the exit when I hear "Nymphadora Tonks of District Six," call out over the speakers. I meet her near the doors and give a reassuring smile to her curiously raised eyebrow. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek as she passes by, heading into the gym for her own evaluation.

I wait for her to emerge, by the elevator. When she appears 10 minutes later, she's covered in sweat with a glowing smile on her face. We refrain from speaking as we ride the lift back to our suite.

Later we sit with Alastor and Dolores to watch Caesar Flickerman present the tributes' training scored. One and Two score highly as usual, an 8 for Pansy, 9s for Draco and Marcus, and a 10 for Fleur. Three gets a 5 for Justin and a 6 for Hermione. Four has two 9s. The boy from Five, Adrian, scores a 6 while Cho gets a 7. Then it's our turn. Dolores begins screaming when my score is revealed. 10. Not only is it higher than most of the Careers' scores but it's entirely unheard of for a 12 year old. Nym ruffles my hair with a grin while Alastor gives me an impressed chuckle. Next up is Nym's score and it's a… 0. Dolores goes instantly silence and, I think, deathly pale. It's hard to tell with all that powder on her face. My own face has gone white I'm sure.

No one has ever before received a 0. I tentatively glance at Nym only to be shocked by her satisfied smirk. We watch the rest of the scores in silence. Seven gets high scores of 10 for Victor and 8 for Tracy. Eight gets two 5s. Nine gets two 8s. Ten has a 4 for Neville and a 7 for Hannah. Dean and Angelina of Eleven both get 8s. And finally for Twelve Percy gets a 3 and Ginny gets a 6. I'm impressed that Ginny did so much better than Percy, but not surprised.

With the scores finally over with, we all turn to Nym for an explanation. Alastor, being the mentor, is the one to voice our question.

"In 68 years no one has been scored 0. What on Earth did you do to earn that?" His voice is hard and I can tell he's trying to control his temper. Nym is so good at riling him up that I wonder for a moment if she got this score just to piss him off. She gives Alastor a bright smile before answering.

"I stripped naked and diddled myself until I came," she says happily. Alastor clenches his eyes shut and growls while Dolores gives an outraged gasp. I throw my head back and laugh. That is so Nym.

"You, girl, have no respect for the Games," Dolores accuses, her voice thick as if she's about to cry. I shoot her a glare.

"Why should she? The Games have no respect for her," I defend. I may not be happy with Nym's lack of effort, but that doesn't mean I don't understand it. If it weren't for my desire to send Nym home I probably wouldn't bother trying either.

Not wanting to dwell on Nym's behavior any longer, Alastor switched his attention to me.

"So what did you do to earn a 10, boy? I'm guessing it wasn't your speed," he says, scratching at his chin thoughtfully.

"I pinned a dummy to the wall with a sword." I shrug noncommittally. Nym's eyes widen.

"So that's what it was! They couldn't get it out so they just covered it with a tarp," she says with a chuckle, "I really had no idea how strong you were, Harry."

I shrug again. Me neither. I neglect to tell them that I threw the sword from across the room with enough force to do that.

The next day is the last day for training. Instead of spending this time in the gym we sit around the table while Alastor gives us a few last minute tips. Like never keep a knife in your pocket unless you intend to lose your bits. Very sound advice. My knees come together involuntarily at the thought of it. When mid day arrives, Nym and I are led away to our stylists so that we can prep for the interviews with Caesar tonight. My outfit is fairly simple. I'm wearing a tuxedo pants, a white silk button up shirt covered by a black velvet vest which has swirling golden lines on the right side of it. I have a red and gold striped tie, and instead of a normal tuxedo jacket I'm wearing a long black open robe, with a crimson inner lining. On the left breast, to balance the gold swirls on my right side, is the symbol for District Six embroidered in gold thread.

It's stunning for sure, but in no way does it represent Six. Our parade outfits of grey and blue fit our district much better than red and gold. Still, I can't really complain. At least Malkin isn't going to paint my scar again. I'm told Nym's outfit is similar in theme to mine, but of course is much more feminine. She does like color but I'm not entirely sure how she'll enjoy something so… Capitol.

I'm standing back stage when the show begins. All the tributes are lined up in order of District, with ladies first as usual, except Nym still isn't here. By the time Four has already gone and the girl from Five is up, I'm getting really worried. When the boy from Five gets his turn and she's next I look around frantically and finally spot her entering the waiting area. Her hair has been styled delicately, and colored black with a red highlight. One side of her hair is buzzed short while the other cascades down the side of her face and curls up like a spring at her cheek. Her outfit isn't much like mine at all, because the only thing she's actually wearing is a rainbow of glitter across her torso from her left shoulder to her right hip. Otherwise, she's completely nude. My face burns red like the inside of my robe and her hair.

She gets into place just in time for her name to be called. She winks at me, and gently closes my gaping mouth with her fingers under my chin, then walks out on stage amid the collection of gasps and wolf whistles. Caesar Flickerman is rarely speechless, being a talented orator with years of experience, so it only takes him a few moments to recover.

"My, my, my Nymphadora. Don't you just look exquisite! Who can we thank for your lovely… uh outfit?" he gushes. Nym gives him a wonderfully unladylike chuckle. She crosses her legs as she sits in the guest chair. Perhaps she feels just a little shame at showing the Capitol everything.

"That would be me, Caesar. I have to admit I didn't much like my stylist's chosen get up for me, so I improvised," she tells him proudly.

"Well you certainly did a marvelous job. Thank you Nymphadora."

"Oh, just Nym please. That's what my friends call me."

"You flatter me Nym."

He chuckles at her in return before becoming a little more serious.

"So Nym, tell us, how did you feel when you saw your score yesterday?"

"To be honest, Caesar, I'm glad for it. It's a first in the Games, I've been told, and it gives me an advantage the other tributes don't have."

"Oh? May I ask what advantage that is?" he asks, lime green eyebrows lifting up on his high forehead.

"With a score of 0, they don't have the first clue as to what I'm capable of."

Her eyes are harder than I've ever seen them. I feel hope welling up in my chest. Maybe she hasn't given up after all. Maybe she really is going to fight. Was this her strategy all along? Make the other tributes think she's worthless and then… what? My stomach drops when I realize what she's really doing. What she's been thinking all along. She really has given up on living, but she hasn't given up on me. She wants to do for me exactly what I'm trying to do for her. She wants to send me home.

**Thanks for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 7**

**Into the Arena**

My interview, compared to Nym's, was uninteresting. Caesar reiterated how extraordinary it is for a 12 year old to be scored a 10 but otherwise he treated me like a child. Then he asked if I thought my parents, two talented Victors, would be proud of me. For the audience I said yes, but quite honestly I doubt it. I know they loved me - Sirius has told me so plenty of times - but what have I done in my 12 years to be proud of? Getting arrested over and over for a wide variety of petty crimes? I'm not even proud of myself, so how could my parents be? They were both brilliant in their own fields while I'm not smart, talented, or even skilled in anything useful. I'm even less proud now as I stand in the launch tube, preparing to kill as soon as the count down ends.

Malkin is seeing me off after having fussed over my arena outfit, which I know will just get torn, dirty, and probably bloody. The outfits we're all wearing this year are made up of green slacks, a thin white shirt, and a snug reddish brown jacket with a pair of yellow stripes down each sleeve. The stripes are highly reflective. I can only imagine we're supposed to choose between staying warm and staying hidden.

Malkin tries to make smalltalk as I wait for my platform to rise up the tube. I'm not pay her any attention though. My stomach is twisting madly as the tension starts becoming unbearable.

"Ten seconds to launch," a Gamemaker's voice announces overhead. I count them down in my head and finally I'm rising. The first thing I see of the arena is the golden cornucopia directly ahead. In the mouth of the cornucopia sit all the weapons. That is where the bloodbath will happen. Alastor has warned me to stay away from the bloodbath and wait for the Careers to being their hunt before trying to snag a weapon. He's forgetting one thing though. I'm fast. Very fast.

Peppered around the ground between here and the cornucopia are various supplies. I spot a green backpack between me and the weapons. I'll scoop it up as I make a dash for a dagger or a knife. There is no way I'm grabbing a sword for a real fight.

Having my plan set for now, I take a look around at the rest of the arena. We're in a large round clearing surrounded by 15 foot tall hedges. There are a multitude of gaps in the hedges leading to different paths, all of them veering off in different directions. There is nothing to indicate which path is the most favorable. All of them are identical but for the direction in which they twist. Despite never having encountered one, this being only a concept left over from before the Dark Days of the Rebellion, it's unmistakable where we are. We're in the heart of a labyrinth.

The countdown has reached ten so I quickly turn my attention ahead. Nym's is three platforms away but I'll focus on finding her again later. Now that I know what she intends, I'm confident that she is perfectly capable of holding her own while I collect a weapon. I firmly plant my feet and bend my knees, ready to vault forward at full speed.

3… 2… 1… The buzzer sounds and I'm off the platform in a flash. Out of the corner of my eye I see many of the other tributes heading in the same direction but, as I predicted, I'm pulling ahead of all of them. Without stopping I bend my torso lower, loop one arm through the strap of my target backpack, and swing it squarely onto my back. I just finish threading my other arm through the second strap as I come up to the mouth of the cornucopia. Picking up the backpack slowed me more than I thought it would, and Cho, the girl from Five, is already upon me. I had wanted a knife, something light that I could move easily with, instead my hand grasps the nearest handle I can reach. It's a rapier. Thin and long, but thankfully not heavy like the swords in the training center.

Cho dances around me, twirling out of reach to get to the weapons racks. I stand on guard, ready for her to attack any moment. She twirls again, this time bring a spear around with her. Predictably time slows to a crawl. The spear is heading right for my face, and ever so slowly I sidestep it. While I was busy dodging, my hand had other ideas. It brings the rapier's tip down, lining up with Cho's heart. Her own momentum carries her forward into the blade. I barely feel the pressure of her body slamming into it. It slices straight through her like she's made of paper.

I'm frozen in horror as our eyes meet. The look of shock, pain and finally sadness flashes through her eyes, before the light in them begins to dim. I've made the first kill of the 69th Hunger Games. I feel sick to my stomach and want to throw up my breakfast. I suddenly spot the boy from from 8, Michael, charging at me with a machete he must have taken from one of the other racks. I don't even know how much time has elapsed since my rapier impaled the girl. My body wants to yank my sword free of Cho's body and bring it to bear, but my mind won't allow it. The guilt of taking her life is so all encompassing that I can't muster the desire to defend myself. I don't deserve it. He bring his machete up to slash it down upon my head when a javelin strikes him in the back.

As his body sinks to the ground I find Nym standing behind him, her arm outstretched elegantly.

"You didn't think I was really going to give up did you?" she asks playfully, as if the act of killing a boy had not phased her in the slightest. I'm still frozen in place so she grabs hold of my hand and pulls me off in the direction of the hedges. This jerks me out of my stupor. I can mourn the loss of my humanity later. Right now I need to survive, so that Nym can survive. There's fighting all around us, blades clashing, screams of pain. Nym snatches up a spear as we escape the cornucopia. Between us and our escape is Adrian, Cho's district partner, weaponless but ready to wrestle if need be. My legs find strength again and I rush ahead of Nym, putting myself between her and danger. His fist is ready to fly out at me but I surprise him as I get within his reach. I drop to the ground and slide in between his spread legs. Spinning around quickly I slash at the back of his knees. He tumbles forward with a cry. Nym catches up and spears him in the neck to finish him. Withdrawing the spear from his neck she motions me to continue forward.

We race into the maze, leaving the sounds of fighting behind us. We turn several corners before we reach the first fork in the path. I hesitate but Nym takes the left one without pause. I follow behind her. We make several more turns and quick decisions before we finally slow down. The sounds of the bloodbath have faded and all we can hear is the slight breeze rustling the surface of the hedge walls, and our own panting breaths.

The cannons that signal the death of a tribute begin to sound. Normally they sound at the instant of death but they usually wait until after the bloodbath to sound the first cannon. 9 shots boom out across the arena. We're only minutes into the Games and already 9 of us are dead. Nym and I are responsible for 3 of those. This time I can't fight being sick. With a gurgle my stomach empties onto the floor. Nym rubs my back gently while I try to regain my breath.

I swallow the tears that threaten to spill. I have yet more people to kill so I can't afford to lose my edge now. Especially not on camera. Crying can wait for the end, when I say goodbye to Nym.

We take a moment, while we catch our breath, to take inventory of what my backpack contains. She didn't have time to grab one because she was trying to get to me first. My pack contains a small medkit, nothing fancy but it will allow us to disinfect, stitch, and bandage wounds. There is also a sleeping bag, some nutrient bars, and an empty water canteen.

At her insistence we quickly start moving forward again. We walk for what I'm sure is miles in silence, though with all the twists and turns, and the hedge walls all looking the same, there is no way to really tell how far we've gone or how long we've traveled. Especially because there is no sun in the sky. I noticed this a while back and pointed it out to Nym. The sky is a soft blue, providing even lighting over the labyrinth, but giving no indication of the time.

Just as I start to think we must be going in circles the scenery changes. The green leaves on the hedges are slowly dwindling until they're bare like a tree in winter. The tangle of branches within them is too thick to see through so I still can't tell whats on the other side. White frost covers the ground, making it crunch beneath our feet, and I instinctively rub my arms as the crisp wind picks up bitingly. The further we trudge the colder it gets. The temperature is dropping so rapidly it's unnatural. Of course it isn't natural. We're in an arena. I should have known the maze itself wouldn't be the only obstacle.

Ice starts to cover the dead hedges and I can see it forming before my eyes. I stop abruptly. Nym glances at me, confused. I look back the way we came and I see the ice spreading to cover more and more of the walls in that direction. We're not walking into the cold. It's moving towards us.

I grab hold of Nym's hand and pull her back the way we came. I can see my breath puff in the freezing air. I hear crackling behind us and spare a quick look back. A coat of ice is forming on the ground and even at our speed it's gaining on us. We turn corner after corner, hoping the freeze will decide to follow a different path. Previously we'd managed to remember which turns we made to get here from the cornucopia, but now we're completely lost and the freeze isn't letting up. Suddenly it's upon us, or below us rather, and we slip on the ice, both of us tumbling to the ground, sliding along. I'm struggling to get purchase on the slippery surface when I hear another sound. It's like the crackling ice but followed closely by a crashing sound and then a splash. I almost don't dare look but I have to.

There behind us the ice on the ground cracks before a gigantic and sharp block of solid ice shoots out from below it, spearing the air, before falling back into the ground. Only where there was ground before there is only water. Dark freezing water. I try to pull Nym up to run again but she slips and falls on her behind. We've never seen ice in Six except on television so she's way out of her element. Any acrobatic ability she possesses is next to useless here. What's worse is that even if by some miracle we don't get killed by the ice spike, there is than the freezing water to deal with.

We can't outrun the ice and we can't survive the water, so I turn to the only other possible escape route. The hedge walls. They're covered in ice and they're so thick I can't see through them, but I think I just might be able to do it. I take my sword into both hands, rising it up above my head. I take a deep breath and hope for that slowing sensation. As I exhale the puff of steam that escapes me wisps into the air like a shifting fog. For the first time since I noticed this ability of mine, I'm glad. I put all my strength in bringing the sword down in front of me. The resistance I feel against the blade is a testament to the sturdiness of these hedges, but they don't stop me. I slice a vertical line into the wall and, before time can return and the extraordinary strength leaves my body, I free one hand from my sword, take up Nym's hand, and charge straight through the hedge.

The cut I made is not nearly as helpful as I thought it might be. The branches are stiff and the sliced edges scratch into my skin as I pass through, but my body pushes them aside to make way for Nym. We tumble out the other side and I turn to make sure we've escaped the ice spike. In the hedge there is a person sized hole. Through it I can see the ice on the other side. I watch in fascination as the hedge knits itself back together and becomes whole again, preventing the ice from passing through. On this side of the wall the hedges are still green.

Time finally returns to its usual pace and the sensations of my body become more acute. I'm covered in deep scratches from the branches and the stinging make me wince. There are bits of the hedge scattered around us from the force of me barreling through, and I'm pretty sure I feel a few small branches actually stuck in my flesh. I try to sit up to assess the damage when a sharp pain in my stomach makes me gasp.

"Oh shit, Harry!" Nym cries out in shock and I turn to look at her. Her face is mostly fine, with several thin scratches along her ears and cheeks, but her eyes are wide in fear and she's looking down at my belly. I follow her gaze and discover a gnarly broken branch sticking out of my abdomen.

"Crap," I wheeze, before passing out.

**Thanks for reading. I'll stop here for now. I still want to edit the later chapters a little before posting them. This is the halfway mark btw.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 8**

**The Alliance**

The world is spinning around me and I haven't even opened my eyes yet. I roll over and try to spill my stomach's contents but it clenches painfully around the emptiness inside it. I gasp for air and clutch the wound in my belly only to find a heavy bandage where the branch was.

"Well, well, look who's awake," A cheerful voice calls out. A male voice.

I spin around and lock eyes with Cedric, the boy from Four. He's grinning but not in the predatory way I'd expect of a Career who just found a defenseless 12 year old in the arena. And I am defenseless, I realize, as I have no idea where my sword is.

Sitting next to Cedric, his back against the hedge wall, is the large boy from Seven, Victor. He's twirling an ax in his hand, much like the hatchet Tracy had used against me in training only bigger. Neither of them is making a move at me. I glance between the two if them in confusion and then my eyes widen and search frantically but I don't see Nym anywhere. Cedric chuckles.

"Relax, kid. Nym is with the girls getting some water. She'll be back in a bit," he reassures me. I don't really know what to make of this. I'm guessing Nym formed some sort of alliance while I was out. It suddenly makes sense now why she was trying to seduce the strong male tributes. Not only did she like it but she knew she could get them to help if they had some kind of attachment. At least, that's what I assume was her thought. She's been using sex as a tool for persuasion for years.

I'm not feeling any pain from my stomach other than hunger so I look down to check the bandage. It has a brown spot where it covers my wound, and judging by the color it hasn't been changed in a while. Coming from Six, Nym and I aren't completely useless when it comes to medicine so I can only guess someone else patched me up. I peel up the bandage, ignoring the worried noise Cedric makes. I'm surprised by what I find there. Where I was expecting someone to have stitched me closed there is only a rough circular scar. I'm completely healed.

"How long have I been out?" I ask in astonishment. It should have taken at very least a couple weeks to get to this stage of healing. But Cedric's answer doesn't add up.

"About a day and a half I'd say. There's no sun to tell time by, but they darken the sky for night time," he tells me, pointing to the now dark blue sky overhead. I nod as if this seems reasonable and place the bandage back on my stomach. I don't want to let on just how well I'm doing already just in case.

"How many?" I ask. His eyes turn to the ground and I know he doesn't need any clarification.

"Five, Eight, Ten, and Eleven are all gone. Also the boys from Three, Nine and Twelve. And… Penelope," he lists for me finishing with a mournful sigh. Penelope Clearwater, his district partner. We try not to care about each other, especially the ones from our own district. I see it every year on TV, district partners distancing from each other, trying their hardest not to be the ones to kill one another. Except tributes from One and Two that is.

I try putting a name and a face to the fallen tributes. Cho Chang and Adrian Pucey were Five. Nym and I had killed them. I suppress a shudder at the thought. From Eight, Michael Corner and Lavender Brown. Michael was another kill that belonged to Nym. There rest I don't know how they died. Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom from Ten, those poor scared children who never had a chance. Eleven, Dean Thomas and Angelina Johnson. I hadn't known what their chances were but Angelina at last had seemed strong. Then Justin Finch-Fletchly, the thin pimpled boy from Three, Roger Davies, the elegant young man from Nine who'd looked like a prince, and finally Percy Weasley from Twelve, Ginny's older brother. I can't help but feel sorry for her. She's probably lost in this maze, all alone.

So that's 12 dead out of 24 and It's been 2 days. Either the Gamemakers made this arena a little too deadly or they want these Games over fast. On average the Games tend to last about two weeks but we're half way down already.

I hear voices approaching from around the corner. I tense for a moment before I recognize Nym's voice in the mix. They round the bend moments later and accompanying Nym are probably the last two people I was expecting to be a part of our alliance. Tracy and Fleur. Given who else is left and who is already here I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised about Tracy, even if she did try to kill me in training, but Fleur of District One? What is she doing here?

Nym sees me awake and is by my side in an instant.

"Harry! How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" she asks hurriedly. Instead of letting me answer she gives me some water to drink and half a nutrient bar from one of our pack. Then she pulls me into her arms roughly.

"I'm- I'm fine Nym. Really," I try to reassure her by patting her back. "Who patched me up?" I ask curiously. She presses her lips up against my ear and speaks low so only I can hear.

"I did, Harry," I'm confused as to how Nym could have done such a bad job at trying to bandage me but she explains. "You were already healing as soon as I pulled the branch out. I didn't want the others to see so I just covered it up." She pauses for a ragged breath. "I can't explain it Harry. I thought you were going to die but it just closed up on its own. It's like a miracle."

The last time my survival was called a miracle, I was a year old. I can't explain it either. Both times I should have been dead, and both times I came away from it with only a scar.

"Why did I pass out for a day if I was healed already?" Nothing about this is making sense.

"I suspect shock and sleep deprivation," she doesn't sound certain but it's as good an explanation as any. Tracy decides we've been whispering long enough and makes it known.

"Alright, he's awake now so can we get a move on?" she says unpleasantly.

"It's night time, Trace. Some of us want to sleep," Cedric complains. Tracy glares at him for the diminutive form of her name. She gives a frustrated growl.

"Fine! But we're moving in the morning. I'm tired of waiting around for someone or something to find us."

"Sure. Why don't you take first watch, seeing as you're so full of energy," Cedric teases with a smirk. She glares back some more.

"Fine by me," she says shortly.

Cedric pulls forward his backpack and hands out a handful of blankets. He motions for Nym to join him under his but she shakes her head and pulls out our sleeping bag, zipping it around the both of us. Cedric looks disappointed but wraps himself in his own blanket alone. Tracy sits opposite from me and stares.

Once everyone else is asleep she speaks quietly.

"For the record, I was against the two of you joining us," This doesn't surprise me in the least, though I have no idea why she's saying so, "but Cedric just had to have his little girlfriend along. We've been stuck babysitting you while you slept for the last day. If you didn't wake up I would have put you out of your misery myself. Now that you're awake you better not slow us down, or else."

Ah so she's threatening me. She's putting on a good show of being hateful and scary, but one look in her eye as I lean forward in response is enough to see through her. She's scared of me. I'm a threat that should have been eliminated while I was vulnerable and she's not glad in the least that I'm awake. I could threaten her back if I wanted but I don't need to. Other than Nym she scored the lowest of us with an 8. Besides, with my ability to slow time and my newfound ability to apparently heal mortal wounds in a blink I'm fairly confident I can accomplish my goal. There is no one in this arena that can beat me. I will be able to get Nym home.

So instead of posturing I make conversation.

"How come Fleur is with us? Why didn't she stay with the rest of the Car- uh, with her partners?" I ask, realizing as I say it that not everyone calls One and Two the Career Pack. I don't know if Seven uses the term. Tracy snorts in response. She reminds me of Nym in a way, without the sexuality and with more anger. Perhaps she needs a good lay.

"That little boy of a district partner she got wants to run the show just because he's a Victor's boy. She didn't like it so she made her own alliance."

"Oh, so she put this together?" She seemed so cold during training. It surprises me that she managed to rally anyone to her side.

"Well, it was more Cedric's doing but she had the idea. Cedric came to me and Victor after evaluations to get us on board. He said you guys were with us too but I'm guessing you didn't know about it. Nymphy knew though," she clarifies. Nymphy? I've never heard her called that. The casual chat seems to be easing Tracy's nerves about me, which I'm not sure is better than her lashing out at me in fright. I don't need another friend that I'll just have to kill when it comes down to it.

"So how did you find us?" The maze is enormous as far as I can tell so it's strange to me that we just happened upon another group that is also our allies.

"We didn't. You came crashing through the hedge not ten feet away from us. After you rushed off into the maze we assumed you just weren't going to join us."

The ice must have been herding us towards them. It wouldn't make sense for the Gamemakers to create a huge labyrinth for the tributes to get lost in without some way to drive them together. I'm not looking forward to finding out what else this maze has in store for us.

The next day, as promised, we move. I still pretend to be injured, but I only slow the group down minimally, so as not to anger Tracy. The girls show us where they found the water, a small round courtyard with a cute little fountain in the center. The walls are lined with berry bushes that I'm pretty sure are safe to eat so we gather them for our next meal. We continue through the maze, not knowing which direction we're going in or how long we're walking for. When the scenery starts to change I become nervous. The last time this happened it was ice coming towards us. This is different though. The hedges have turned to ivy covering grey stone walls. The dirt ground becomes a paved street with sewer covers every few yards. In the walls there are grate covered openings that can only be described as pipes. I try to fight back the notion that we're about to be flooded with sewage.

The threat of this area is identified when Cedric, who is in the lead, finds a wrinkled, translucent, and 30 foot long snake skin.

"Oh dear," he says.

"I think we should turn back," Fleur suggests and we all nod in agreement.

We double back and take a different turn that leads us into a floral garden. Fleur feels right at home and gives a contented sigh as we sit on the wooden benches, passing around the berries we collected.

"This place is so nice. I wish we could spend the rest of the Games here, sipping some tea, a couple biscuits maybe. Wouldn't that be lovely?" Fleur asks wistfully, sniffing one of the flowers. I raise my eyebrow at Nym who giggles in return.

"You're not at all what I expected, Fleur. I thought all of you in One were trained killers," Nym says, relaxing into her bench. Fleur smirks and twirls a knife around her finger deftly.

"Oh, we are. But that doesn't mean I can't like pretty things."

We chat amicably for a little while. I can't quite figure out why we're taking a moment to relax. This is the Hunger Games. We're in the arena to kill one another. So why are we sitting in a park, talking like it's a lazy Sunday? Tracy bends down to smell the flowers, something I'd never picture Tracy doing.

The flowers. Their sickly sweet scent is making my head spin and my mind cloud over. They're lulling us into a sense of security. Then I notice the buzzing. At first I assume it's bees, given the flowers around us, but I can't seem to locate the source. Until I see something moving in the rose bush. Out onto the stem of one of the roses crawls a bizarre blue eight-legged lizard with insect wings. It's a muttation. A Capitol creation that could never exist out in the world for it had to be engineered.

And mutts are never harmless. I snap my fingers and the friendly chatter of our group quiets immediately. When all their eyes are on me I point to the blue lizard. They look where I'm pointing and freeze. Then Fleur gasps and points to the bush beside me. Three of the lizards have crawled out of it. I hear more buzzes and look around. Every bush is releasing another few of the lizards and soon they're all intermittently flapping their wings, creating an uneven cacophony of buzzing. I slowly rise to my feet.

"Maybe it's time to move on," I propose casually. The others nod and stand slowly. Fleur takes the first step towards the garden exit, and with a shriek the creatures take off. And so do we. All of them have forgotten I'm supposed to be injured for the moment but I stick to the back in case someone realizes I'm doing much better than I should be.

We run out of the garden with a swarm of flying lizards at our heels. They catch up easily and start biting us. I feel needle teeth sink into my hand and shake the lizard loose with a shout. The bite burns and I'm sure almost certain it's poisonous. I wave my sword around, knocking a few of them out of the air. I feel more bites burn, one on my neck, and then one on my finger. I see the others trying to bat the lizards away too with about as much success as I'm having.

Suddenly I see the others disappear over an edge and I can't stop myself in time. I tumble over after them, rolling down a green hill, and splash into a lake or a pond. I thrash about, trying to get my head above the surface of the water but I feel like I'm only sinking deeper. The water is clear enough but my panicked movement is creating a stream of bubbles that block everything from view. Suddenly I feel a pull on my jacket and I'm yanked upward. I gasp in air as if I couldn't get enough of it and look around to find my rescuer. It's Cedric. Of course it's Cedric, he's probably the only accomplished swimmer here. He pulls me to shore where I find all the others, soaking wet but well enough.

"Anyone else get bit?" Cedric asks, automatically assuming the role of leader.

"Yeah," I choke out, still breathing heavily. "What the hell were those things?"

"Doxies," Victor answers darkly. "We have them in Seven, in the forests. They bite you and an hour later you're paralyzed. And then they eat you."

I shudder at the thought. Cedric clears his throats.

"Well it looks like we lost them so we shouldn't have to worry about that bit. Still, let get into the tree line and out of sight if we're going to end up paralyzed."

I look up and indeed there is a tree line. It looks like in this area the walls are made up of trees rather than hedges. Too thick and close together to allow us to pass between them but there are openings back into the maze. We find a corner out of sight and sit, waiting for the effects to kick in. Fleur is the first to go stiff. She must have gotten bit as soon as she started moving. Victor goes next, then Nym and then Cedric.

"How long does it last?" I ask before Tracy can stiffen up too.

"A day," she responds. Shit.

**Thanks for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 9**

**What Now?**

I wait for the stiffness to take me but it never does. I glance over at Tracy who is also still not paralyzed.

"How come you're not paralyzed?" I ask, to which she shrugs.

"Didn't get bit."

"Oh."

"I thought you did though." She raises an eyebrow at me.

"I did." I raise my hand to show her the bite marks. Only they're not there anymore. The burning sensation has faded and only tiny pink dots are left where the needle teeth sank into me. I raise my hand to my neck and can't feel anything there either.

"Wha-" I shut myself up when I remember. My weird healing ability. Looks like it extends beyond just mortal wounds. I don't know how I never noticed it before but thinking back it's always been this way. I've had my share of skinned knees and bruises. They've always gotten better in no time at all. And then there's the train wreck I survived as an infant. The slow motion and strength are new though. Or maybe I've just never been in the right situation for them to occur before. I can't understand why my body is like this. There is no logical explanation for it.

"Maybe you're immune or something?" Tracy wonders out loud before shrugging again and lying back against a tree. "I gonna nap. You keep watch."

The day passes slowly. I tense up a few times when I hear noises but each time it turns out to be a bird or a rabbit. Tracy and I strike up a couple conversations between trading off watches but nothing important is said. Eventually I decide to go look for some food, for when the others can move again. I come across a few more rabbits and toss my sword at them. I do end up skewering one with a lucky throw and return back to the group. Tracy cooks it, having more experience with lighting a fire than I do, and we each grab a leg before storing the rest away for the others.

The sky darkens as night begins and Tracy bemoans a wasted day. The Capitol anthem begins to play and I realize I've missed it two nights in a row. The Capitol logo splashes across the sky but no faces follow. Nobody died today and the audiences wont be happy.

Perhaps I should try to do something interesting to catch a sponsor's attention, and then maybe they'll send me something. But I don't really need anything do I? I have Nym. I have allies. We have food, water, sleeping bags, blankets, even a medkit. This has to be the easier Hunger Games ever. I manage to get some sleep once Tracy takes over my watch, and dream of calmer days. Days when Nym and I would climb up to the roof of a tall building and just sit watching the sun set as we eat popsicles we'd stolen from the Peacekeeper kitchens.

The next morning, or at least I think it's morning, we're all woken up by a nearby scream. The popsicles are instantly gone, as is the sun, and I'm back in the arena.

"Hermione!" Victor calls frantically, before rushing off in the direction of the scream. The paralyzing venom has obviously worn off. We all follow behind him, not wanting any of us to get lost. We arrive at a fork and Victor looks around wildly, trying to decide which way to reach the screaming girl. Her cry sounds again, and Victor leads us down the left path. The tree line in this area becomes less like a wall and more scattered like a forest, and the ground becomes wet and muddy. It's less like a maze than the other areas I seen. Long vines hang from the trees and I recognize them as willows from one of the survival stations. Rounding a set of trees we come upon a small body of water that looks dirty and undrinkable. We're in a swamp.

And there, at the edge of the water, tangled in a mass of writhing vines that descend from the trees, is Hermione Granger, the girl from Three. Victor rushes to her as the vines continue to shift around her like snakes. I guess the vague connection they'd established in training had blossomed into something more, judging by his relieved sighs as he kneels next to her. When she sees him she whimpers.

"No, Victor! It's a trap!" she cries out, but it's too late. A knife zips through the air before any of us can register it, and impacts with Victor's back. He lets out a yell of pain and rage before turning to face his attacker. Marcus of Two is standing across the water, grinning sadistically. Tracy throws one of her hatchets at him but he dodges out of the way, sending two more knives into Victors chest. Somehow Victor gets to his feet, though he wobbles dangerously. He pulls up his large ax and launches it at Marcus. The boy tries to sidestep again, only to find that vines just like the ones holding Hermione have snaked around his legs and he can't move them. His mouth and eyes open wide in horror before the ax slams into his chest, knocking him off his feet.

"Victor!" Hermione cries, as he falls back to his knees. Then he slumps forward, driving the knives deeper into his body. Two cannons sound signaling their back to back deaths. A war cry from behind us catches us by surprise. We spin around to find Pansy charging at us. She slashes toward my neck and time slows. I bring up my sword to intercept her blade but instead of following through with the attack she veers off and enters the dense forest again. I stare after her in confusion. I hear a gasp from behind, followed by Cedric's shout of "Nym!" and then a cannon shot. Dread fills my chest as I spin around again, agonizingly slowly. Cedric is bound to a tree by those snake like vines, struggling to get free. Fleur is face down on the ground, a gush of blood flowing down from her neck towards the body of water below. The cannon must have been for her. Relief flood through me as I see Nym, standing over Fleur's body. I don't know if she killed Fleur or what but thankfully she seems fine. Until she falls backwards and I see the arrow in her chest.

"No!" I rush forward, time returning to normal, and kneel beside her. She's gasping for breath, not looking down at the wound in her chest but straight into my eyes

"Harry-" she wheezes before coughing up blood and then falling limp. She's not breathing anymore. I take up her wrist but I don't feel a pulse. The cannon fires and I know without a doubt it's for her. My body starts to shake uncontrollably and tears spill down my cheeks.

I've failed my mission. I've failed to send her home. I didn't even get to say goodbye. She'd coughed out my name and then she was gone. I could do nothing to stop it or bring her back. It was too quick, too meaningless. A death so unworthy of Nym. She deserved to have gone down with a fight, not shot from a distance without a chance to retaliate.

Sirius' word after the Reaping come back to me. "I need to go say goodbye to Nym," and then "Don't lie down for them. Make them pay." I hadn't understood them then. I thought he meant for me not to let the other tributes kill me without a fight, but perhaps this is what he was expecting. He knew Nym wouldn't make it. Make them pay, for what they did to Nym.

I hear another war cry and look up to see Pansy charging again. I stand up, my sword held tight in my fist. Pansy's yell drops in pitch and she's inching toward me, knife held out in front of her. I step forward, not allowing her to feint again, and with a vicious snarl bring my sword upward, slicing off her hand at the wrist. She screams out in pain but I don't care to listen to it. I slash my blade sideways, through her torso, cleaving her body in half. The pieces flop to the ground and the woods are silent around me.

I sink back to my knees by Nym's body and caress her still warm face. Then I shut her eyelids and kiss her cheek goodbye. My beloved sister is dead. I hear a rustling behind me and glance back to see Tracy leaning against the tree where Cedric is still trapped, her arm bleeding from a deep slash. Cedric is immobilized but I can see he's crying. I guess he really liked Nym.

"Who did this?" I ask harshly to both of them. Cedric shakes his head unable to speak, so I turn to Tracy. "Who?" I repeat with a venomous glare.

"We don't know," she sighs, wincing as she clutches her bleeding arm, "Cedric got caught by the tree, then while we were distracted by Pansy, Draco stabbed Fleur and Daphne attacked me. Nym sliced up Draco's shoulder with her spear, and I think I got Daphne in the stomach. But we didn't see who shot the arrow."

We sit in silence for a minute before Cedric starts choking. The vines have constricted around his neck, pressing him tight against the tree. Numbly I stand and cut him down. He tumbles forward and then crawls weakly over to Nym's body, gathering he up into his arms and sobbing softly. I watch in detached amazement at the emotional display. He had known her for only a week, but Nym had really touched him somehow. I sit down next to Tracy and continue to watch Cedric grieve.

"Was she your girlfriend or something?" Tracy asks me kindly, and I realize that she too just lost her district partner. Victor never would be a Victor after all.

"More like my sister. I was trying to-" A lump forms in my throat as a fresh wave of regret washes over me and I try to swallow it down. "It was her last Reaping. She never took any tesserae. She wasn't supposed to get picked. I just wanted her to make it back home."

"What about you?" she asks, her eyebrows knitting together. "You're only 12 right? You weren't supposed to be picked either."

I shake my head in response. "Both my parents were Victors. It was always going to be me." It occurs to me that we're still on camera and probably shouldn't be discussing this but I can't bring myself to care anymore.

"What about you and Victor?" I ask her. She gives me a bitter chuckle.

"Nah, nothing romantic. We were friends though. I'm actually dating his cousin, Johanna," she admits, and I raise an eyebrow this time. I hadn't pegged her as liking women, but then there was never anything obvious about Sirius either.

"Is she nice? Or is she like you?" I query and she laughs heartily this time.

"She's a sweet girl. I love her to bits. I really wish I could go home to her when this is all over."

I think about this for a moment. I'd failed Nym but if I was honest it was probably better that she died here, rather than return home to the torture of guilt, nightmares, and the Capitol. In any case I had no more reason to fight other than revenge. Maybe if I could get Tracy home to her lover I wouldn't feel so empty and useless.

"I was never going to survive these Games," I tell her, "I promise you, if it comes down to you and me, you will get to see Johanna again."

She stares as me in surprise, and then slaps the back of my head.

"Idiot. You probably just lost all your sponsors by saying that," she grumbles. I shake my head with a sad smile on my face.

"It's not like I've received any gifts yet. I've done just fine without sponsors so far."

I've done fine, it's true, but I would never be fine again. Not with Nym gone. But really, who needs sponsors anyway? What could they give me now that would make these Games any easier? How about some poison, so I can go quickly when I've had enough.

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	10. Chapter 10

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**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 10**

**The Basilisk**

I patch up Tracy's arm as best I can with strips of my shirt as a bandage. Our medkit was in Fleur's bag, which Draco stole after stabbing her, so I couldn't do much more than clean it and wrap it. Cedric eventually pulls himself together and we find Hermione still tangled in the vines but alive, sobbing beside Victor's body. After cutting her loose we offer her to come with us and she agrees.

As we leave the area I hear the soft whine of a hovercraft overhead and watch from a distance as it pulls up the bodies of the dead tributes. Nym is going home. I turn around, unable to watch any longer. We trudge through the swampy ground until we reach a stone wall. This wall is familiar. The moment we find a path back into the maze I know why. There, on the ground, is a sewage cover. I turn to Cedric for his leadership and but he shakes his head sadly. He doesn't have it in him to lead right now. I'm suddenly furious with him. So what if he'd fallen for Nym and lost her? He didn't have the right to mourn a week old crush. She was my sister! I should be the one allowed to grieve and be useless. I take a couple of deep breaths, pushing aside my anger. I will get my revenge, but now is not the time to lose my head. I try to figure out what we need to do, since our esteemed leader is incapable.

"We can't go back the way we came. The hill is too steep and even if we make it up, the doxies will be there. We'll just have to hope we don't come across the giant snake."

Tracy nods in agreement but Hermione covers her mouth at the mention of a giant snake. Not bothering to wait for the two grief-stricken lovers I carry on into the maze. We walk for hours without finding our way out of the stone area. I thought the days in Six were slow but this one seems to stretch forever.

Finally it's night time and we hear the Capitol Anthem. This time I know there will be faces. Fleur Delacour of District Two is first. She didn't die first but they always show them in order of district. Marcus Flint of District Two is next. Then Pansy Parkinson of District Two. Nymphadora Tonk of District Six. I almost wish her face would never fade from the sky. Victor Krum of District Seven ends the light show and then it's time to sleep. But I can't, neither can Cedric, Hermione, or Tracy. We've all lost someone today and I feel a little bad that Fleur has no one here to mourn her.

I try to take count of who all is left. 5 died today, so there are 7 left in all. Me, Tracy, Cedric and Hermione make 4. Plus Draco and Daphne makes 6. Who is the last one? Whoever else is left had been the one to kill Nym. No one else had a bow and arrows.

_Make them pay!_ Sirius' voice insists in my head. It doesn't really matter who killed her. Everyone in the arena is going to die.

"Cedric," I begin, suddenly needing to know. He looks up at me, fresh tears in his eyes. "Did you love her?"

He clench his jaw and his eyes close, spilling tears down his cheeks. He holds his breath, obviously on the verge of sobbing. Opening his eye, he gives me a nod.

"Yeah. I think I did. It happened so fast I never expected it. She was just so... colorful," he chokes up and cant continue speaking.

I feel tears prickling my own eyes again.

"She was my rainbow in the Grey," I whisper in agreement.

Hermione starts sobbing quietly and Tracy pulls her into an embrace. It's hard to believe this is the girl who tried to kill me in training. I still remember that murderous gleam I saw in her eyes then and in her Reaping video.

"I didn't love Victor," Hermione admits softly after regaining control of her breathing. "But he was my friend. I've never had a friend before."

We laps into silence and I can't help but think of these people as my friends. I hope I don't have to be the one to kill Cedric, given how close he and Nym had gotten over the past week, or Hermione for that matter, but they cannot survive this arena. They're already broken, consumed by guilt and loss. Nothing good will be waiting for them if they return home. Only one of us can get out and it isn't me.

If anyone could survive the Games and still be happy it would be Tracy. She has a fierce fighting spirit and her Johanna to go home to. I don't want to but if I have to I will kill the others for her. Nym is gone, so I will save Tracy instead.

When the sky becomes day again we eat and drink. And then we stand to be on our way again. None of us has slept and we're all anxious to leave this area. Eventually we make a turn and I see the hedges again up ahead. I'm about to tell the others we've made it out when a shriek pierces the air. I whip around to see the owner of the wrinkled husk we encountered before, it's jaws wrapped around Hermione's shoulder, and it's fangs sinking into her heart. The cannon booms telling me there's nothing more I can do for her.

"Run!" I tell to Tracy and Cedric, before taking off towards the hedges. Surely the snake won't follow us out of its area. Unfortunately we don't make it out in time. Crashing through one of the pipe covers, the snake emerges in front of me. It coils up readying to strike at me. A gust of wind whooshes past my ear and the snake gives a squeal of pain. A hatchet has imbedded itself in one of its eyes and it begins thrashing about trying to dislodge it. I don't wait for that to happen. I turn back and motion for my companions to go back the other way and we're running again. We make a couple of turns and stop short. A dead end. The first dead end we've encountered since entering the arena, which now that I think about it makes little sense. A maze is primarily made up of dead ends. We turn back again and try a different path. Another dead end. And then another, and another. The Gamemakers are shifting the walls and boxing us in.

I press up against the wall trying to find a weak spot but there isn't one. Unable to think of another solution, I try the move I made to escape the ice. Feeling my heart beat slow and bring the sword over my head and swing it down as hard as I can. It shatters. The top half of the sword goes flying back over my head, while a few smaller fragments cut into my chest and shoulders like shrapnel. My wrist is broken from the impact and I drop the handle to the ground. I let out a yell mostly in anger rather than pain and pin a glare to the stone wall. I don't need a blade for this. I take a step back and put all my strength into pushing me forward. My shoulder drives into the wall, and a wide crack splits across the surface. My shoulder is throbbing, possibly dislocated, but I step back again and thrust myself once more into the wall. Chunks of stone fly outward as I blast my way through the wall. We've made it out of the stone area.

I turn around to tell my allies to follow but the words catch in my throat. Behind Cedric the snake's tongue flicks out to taste the air around him. Cedric swivels on his feet but not fast enough. The snake snatches up his legs and slams him into the stone wall, before tossing him in the air over it. He sails high over several walls before coming down somewhere I can't see with a crunch. There is no cannon so he must be alive but I can't imagine he's in good shape. It's just me an Tracy now. I have to protect Tracy.

My right arm is limp at my side, blood soaking through the thin jacket sleeve, its wrist broken and shoulder too most likely. So with my other hand I snatch up my broken sword and sprint towards the snake, past Tracy. It opens it's jaws and lunges for me in return. Time slows again and I point my broken but still sharp blade into it's open mouth. As it closes its mouth around my arm I feel one of its fangs pierce my bicep. But I don't care because my sword has sliced through the roof of its mouth, into its brain, and out the top of its head.

Time finally catches up to me and then so does the pain. I scream in agony and try to wrest my arm from the snake's mouth. Finally the fang in my arm breaks free of it's dead owner's mouth and I pull away with it still in my flesh. I use my legs to scoot away from the carcass, both my arms dragging uselessly against the floor. Tracy runs over to me, yanks out the fang and tries to stop the bleeding. Then, before her eyes bleeding slows, and the gaping wound begins to close up, leaving a hideous round scar like the one on my stomach. I feel my should snap back into place and my wrist fuse back together. The pain ebbs away and Tracy stares into my eyes in utter confusion.

I open my mouth to explain, even though I don't understand it any better than she does, when suddenly a sword juts out from her gut. She looks down at it briefly before falling forward onto me. Standing now where she'd been is Draco, his bloody sword held triumphantly in front of his face. An incoherent yell bubbles out of me. I'm unable to form words to express my rage, regret, and grief. I try to lunge for him but I've exhausted myself and can't move Tracy's limp form from on top of me. Draco yells right back at me but it's different. He turns around flailing, showing me the knife now stabbed into his back between his shoulder blades. He's trying to reach it, to pull it out, but slowly he's losing energy. Like the trickle of blood down his back is his very life leaving his body.

He falls to his hands and knees, gasping for breath, and reveals Daphne. She's holding her stomach but she can't disguise the ugly wound there. Her skin looks sickly, pale and green like her eyes, which no longer shine like gems but rather are clouded over in her imminent death. She's so far from the regale look she had during the Reaping.

"Thought you'd leave me behind, did you? I showed you," she tells him bitterly before falling against the wall and sliding to the floor. "I showed you," she repeats, then closes her eyes and a cannon announces her death. Draco is still whimpering and sobbing, his arms collapsed beneath him and his face on the cobble stone. I feel no pity for him. I feel only a fire burning inside me. I want revenge. For Nym, for Tracy, and now most of all for me. I have nothing left but emptiness and this fire. My arms functioning once more, I free myself from Tracy and crawl over to Draco's sobbing form. I know Draco's death will bring me no peace. But it's a start.

I pull the knife from Draco's back, eliciting a ragged scream from him. Then I plunge it back into his body, drawing out another scream. I stab him again and again. His screams reducing to whimpers and then to pathetic wheezes every time I plunge the knife into his back again. Then the cannon sounds and I realize I'm the one still screaming. I dig the knife once more into his back and leave it there, continuing to scream until I have no breath left and my throat is raw.

"Harry." A soft voice says from behind me. I wipe my tear-stained face with my bloody hand and turn to the voice. It's Tracy. Her face is turned towards me but she's still lying limp against the ground. I crawl back over to her. Nym choked on her own blood before she could say goodbye. Whatever Tracy has to say in her last moments I must hear.

"Harry," she begins again, whispering because she barely has any strength left in her. "Please, tell Johanna… not to cry for me. And... make them pay."

I clasp her hand in both of mine. I'm not sure if she actually said those last words. Sirius' voice echos around my skull now. Make them pay. Make them pay.

"I will-" I don't get to finish acknowledging her request because her cannon booms, leaving her eyes staring blankly into mine.

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	11. Chapter 11

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**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 11**

**Burn It All**

I sit there for a long time, holding Tracy's hand. I know I'm supposed to move away so they can collect the bodies but I can't shake myself from the trance. The fire in my soul burns and buns but my body cant seem to react to it. It's the soft chime of a bell that finally breaks me out of my stupor. A parachute is descending toward me. A gift from a sponsor. The container lands softly beside me and I consider it for a moment. Carefully I open the box to retrieve what's inside. I pull out a single wooden matchstick. I can easily start a fire thanks to the survival training and Tracy's more experienced instruction, but the match is more than that. It's a message. One I'm inclined to listen to. Burn it.

Burn it down. Burn it all. Make them pay! It wasn't the other tributes who had to pay for what they'd done to Nym or Tracy. It was the Capitol. I was going to burn down the arena.

I kiss Tracy's cold dead hand, grab Draco's fallen sword, and then leave the area behind so the bodies can be picked up. Tracy would get home, even if it was in a coffin.

I wait until night falls so I'm sure the bodies are gone and wont be caught in the blaze I'm about to set. I rest, knowing I'll need my energy. I'm not woken until the anthem blares and I see Draco's face in the sky. Draco Malfoy of District One. Hermione Granger of District Three. Tracy Davis of District Seven. And Daphne Greengrass of District Nine. When it ends I'm ready to begin. Sticking the match in my pocket, I turn to the hedge wall. I need to find out where is best to start the fire and I can only do that if I can see the whole arena. Grabbing a fistful of branches I pull myself up, climbing up the hedge with minimal effort. Soon I'm standing at the top of the hedge look over the entire maze. The stone area, the lake, and the ice path are the only part of the arena that are not flammable. The ice path could be a problem, given that it moves. The Gamemakers could send it to put out my fire. That just means I'll have to start in the forrest, where the ice path cannot go. It's an assumption but I'll have to chance it.

My light weight allows me to travel quickly atop the hedges without falling through, so I hop from wall to wall, making my way back to the forest without having to navigate the maze. When I reach the forest I gather firewood, staying clear of the swamp where the wood will be damp. I set up my fire about a meter from a tree, close enough that I can get it to catch but far enough that the Gamemakers think I'm just stupid, not committing arson. I place what's left of my shirt at the base of my pyre, knowing it will be the best starter I can ask for. Lighting the solitary match I set my shirt ablaze. I keep building the fire up and up until I'm sure the Gamemakers know what I'm doing.

Sure enough it starts to rain, but my fire is protected under the tree. It's time to stop building and set it onto the forrest itself. I take one of the longer sticks from the fire and hold it up to the tree's branches. It takes a while and my arm starts to ache but I ignore it. When the branch catches I move to the next one. Soon the entire tree is aflame and the rain can't do much about it. I move to the next tree to do the same but the tree has been wet too thoroughly and wont catch. Shit. I guess I underestimated the Gamemakers. I'm about to give up when the rain ends abruptly, and then trees start bursting into flame left and right.

I scowl. The Gamemakers are taking my idea and making it their own. There's only three tributes left and they're going to force the Games to a close. It's not be the payback I wanted but at the very least I'm making them end their Games in under a week. The fire starts to consume everything and I realize I need to get out or I will burn with the forest. I make my way to the top of a hedge wall and survey the arena. All around the edge of it the fires are starting. They're going to drive us towards the middle. Very well. I start running along the hedges, hopping again from on to the other, this time in the opposite direction, towards the cornucopia.

I've made it half way when I start feeling hot and glance behind me to see the progression of the the flames. They've moved much faster than I expected and are already upon me. I put on a burst of speed but it's no use. The flames lick at my back and feat and soon I'm on fire too. I grit my teeth to stem to pain and keep running but it's become unbearable. I recall the times I've been hurt while time is slowed, I don't feel the pain until after things return to normal. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the feeling of time slowing.

It doesn't work. The skin of my back is blistering from the fire so I unzip my jacket and throw it aside. The flames now licking at my bare back but at least it's not directly on my skin. I've never made time slow in a situation where I wasn't attacking something, so maybe that's the answer. I focus my eyes on the cornucopia ahead and tell myself I'm going to ram it. The pain recedes and I know I've succeeded. Not only am I not feeling the pain anymore but I'm running faster too. I reach the last hedge wall before the central clearing and realize I'm going to have to jump down 15 feet. I don't even hesitate before launching myself forward, towards the cornucopia.

I approach the ground with one leg forward, ready to bend my knee and roll forward. But as my foot touches the grass I realize my leg is at the wrong angle. I skid forward, my knee cracking and my leg bending upward. I manage to wrench it aside so it doesn't end up breaking any further, throw my sword aside so I don't land on it, and tumble face first into the ground.

Time returns to its normal pace and pain returns to me. My back burns badly, my knee is broken and now so is my nose. I can taste the blood running from it down to my chin. I turn over to look around. The entire arena is blazing, fire covering every bit of the hedge walls. This is what I wanted but now it's just another part of the Games. They used my revenge against me and I'm about finished.

Cedric stumbles out of the flaming labyrinth, liming and burning. He's shouting something at me but I can't make it out. As he gets closer I think I make out the word "spider" but I can't be sure. And it's confirmed because an enormous spider crashes through the burning hedge behind Cedric. Cursing, I crawl over to my discarded sword and pick it up. I struggle onto my good leg and prepare to fight off the spider. Cedric finally stops next to me and spins quickly to face the spider as well. He's managed to get ahold of a spear somehow and stand ready to fight. In no time the spider is upon us and time slows for me. I swipe my sword, this one heavy like the one in the training room, towards one of it's legs, while Cedric jabs his spear at the spider's face. By now I'm used to being near invincible when time is distorted, so it comes as a surprise when the Spider's legs moves out of the way of my strike. I lose my careful footing as my swing overbalances me, and fall on my back. The spider lunges down and snatches up my injured leg in its jaws.

I scream in pain, feeling the spider's pincers tear into my ankle as well as the weight of my entire body pulling on my broken knee. Cedric manages to dash under me and the spider, and stabs his spear into the spider's underbelly. It shrieks and lets go of my leg. I crumple to the ground in a heap and barely roll away from one of the spider's legs that crashes down where my head had been. I snatch up my dropped sword again and swipe at the leg. This time it hits. I limp forward to slash off the next leg. The spider starts to teeter, and Cedric is still underneath, jabbing his spear into it repeatedly.

"Get out of there!" I warn him. He pulls his spear out and rolls out from under the spider. I remove another of its legs and it falls down, unable to support itself. Cedric raises his spear up and throws it into the spider's face. It shriek in pain and fury but isn't dead yet. I hobble towards its face, raise my sword overhead, and bring it crashing down onto the spider's head. It finally silences and stops moving. Cedric remains standing but I can't. I fall back onto my behind, and both of us stay silent for a moment other than for our heavy breathing. Finally Cedric speaks.

"I can't kill you, you know that right?"

My brow furrows.

"Why is that?" Why should he have any trouble killing me? I know he took out at least one person in the bloodbath, and he scored a 10 like I did. He's also standing whereas I'm on the ground. He sighs defeatedly.

"Because you're her brother. I just… I couldn't do that."

For the first time ever I realize that Cedric is a truly good person. His heart has survived the arena, and just maybe he could survive the Capitol. I couldn't get Nym back home, but she was doomed the moment her name came out of the bowl. Tracy might have been able to make it, especially with her Johanna to help her through, but I failed her. Cedric might be the last of us worth saving. Ginny crosses my mind for a moment but I dismiss her.

"I'll do it then," I tell him. He looks at me confused until I take up my sword again, pointing it at my own chest. He stumbles towards me, trying to stop me. I'm about to do it when an arrow flies right through where Cedric was previously standing. We both turn in the direction the arrow came from and another arrow thuds into his hip. He yells in pain, falling to his knees unable to stand. I stand as carefully as possible, trying to find the shooter. Standing on top of the cornucopia is Ginny, another arrow already drawn and pointing once more at Cedric. It flies and impacts him right in the chest. He lets out a final grunt and a cannon fires. He falls forward, the arrow snapping under his weight.

Ginny had killed Cedric. The last person I might have been able to save. And she'd killed Nym. Whether Nym was better off dead or victorious was not the point. She killed my sister. Ginny would not be leaving the arena. I step forward, barely noticing my broken knee anymore. It was probably on its way to healing already anyway. My sword drops from my hand and I can't quite comprehend why for a moment. Then I notice. Time has slowed again and I'm not in control anymore. This time I don't care. As long as my body's instincts end with Ginny dead, I don't care what I use. She nocks another arrow, this one pointed at me. It flies straight enough but I side step it easily. She's not the best shot but she can kill well enough, as long as it's not me she's trying to hit. She fires another and then another. I dodge both, and now I'm almost at the cornucopia.

She shakily pulls out her last arrow, draws it back aiming carefully.

"Stop, Harry!" She shouts, her voice trembling. "Please! I'm your friend. Don't kill me," she begs me. It's a strange thing to say to someone you've been trying to shoot for the last minute. But even if I wanted to I can't stop now. I'm no longer in control and I don't feel any desire to take it back. Seeing I'm not stopping she lets fly her last arrow, right at my face. My hand shoots up to snatch the arrow right out of the air before it can touch me. Ginny lets out a desperate sob, seeing me still standing and holding her last arrow. I twirl it around and hold it up over my shoulder. I pull back slightly and then throw it like a javelin. I didn't know that was even possible but somehow my body knew how to do it. The arrow hit Ginny in the shoulder and with a squeak she slips and falls off the side of the cornucopia. She lands hard and wails as the arrow is pushed deeper into her shoulder.

I take my time walking over to her and she tries to drag herself away with one arm. My hand reaches out and flips her over onto her back. I grab her wrists and pin them to the ground under my knees. She's sobbing hysterically now, and thrashing her legs, trying to throw me off. My fingers come around her neck and start to squeeze. She lets out a shrill scream before I close off her windpipe. It feels like forever but it's probably only a couple of minutes before he thrashing slows and then ceases. And the the cannon booms.

"The winner of the 69th Hunger Game! Harry Potter!" comes the announcement, and still my fingers don't go of her neck. The dark blue sky fades away, revealing a sunrise glinting off the shiny golden surface of the cornucopia. I lift my gaze and find my reflection. And there I see it. Just like in my dream, the green eyes I received from my mother are now crimson red. My fingers finally loosen from Ginny's neck and my face tilts up into the sky as I let out a maniacal laugh.

**Thanks for reading.**


	12. Chapter 12

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**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 12**

**What I Am**

I wake up in a hospital bed. Or at least I assume it is. Everything is white, I have tubes coming out of me, and there's an annoying repetitive beeping sound. Why am I here? Flashes of the arena pass in front of my eyes. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to block the images out but that only makes them more vivid. I see myself strangling Ginny, and then looking up into my own red eyes and laughing. Then it's all blank.

"What the hell am I?" I ask no one in particular.

"That, Harry, is a fairly easily answered question," a high pitched voice answers me. I remove my hands quickly and it takes me a moment to focus on the figure standing next to my bed. He has black and green eyes, not unlike my own, and he's wearing a lab coat. He must be a doctor. He reaches his hand out to shake mine.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Tom Riddle," he tells me with a smile that looks anything but genuine. I tentatively shake his hand.

"Hi," I answer simply. He knows who I am already. "You were saying?" I prompt, wondering what his answer would be to what I am, but he waves my question away.

"It can wait dear boy. First let's talk about your duties here on out."

"What duties?" I ask. I have my suspicions about what he means but sure they're not going to sell my body yet. Right? I'm only 12 after all.

"You're Victor's duties, Harry. Surely you know about them." He gives me the fake smile again. "Normally we'd wait until after the Victory Tour to introduce your duties, but you're a very special case. You're first assignment has already been picked out. You'll need training first no doubt, but I think we should have you ready by the time your Tour rolls around."

I'm stunned. My first assignment already picked? So, what? Some rich Capitolite wants me so bad they can't wait? And training? I think I'm going to throw up.

"Wha-What makes me so special?" I ask when I find my voice again. "And what _am _I?"

"Why, you're Harry Potter of course!" His false smile is as infuriating as his reply, but what he says next throws me for a loop. "And, you're also my creation."

I stare at him in confusion. His creation? What does that mean? I'm suddenly a lot less sure what this is all about. Dr. Riddle's smile becomes fierce, predatory like Ludo Bagman's but somehow so much more dangerous.

"I created you, Harry. Designed you. Engineered you. Were you not curious about your advanced combat reflexes, augmented strength and accelerated healing? I made you to be this way."

I blink and then I shake my head in disbelief. How can he know about those things? Okay, they were all caught on camera so I guess that's public. But how can he claim to have engineered me?

"I had parents," I say pitifully. I sound so unsure of myself, but what he's saying can't possibly be true. I know it's not. I'm certain. I don't even know why I feel the need to defend this fact. Sirius knew my parents. He told me all about them, their Games, their love

"Harry," he sighs, tutting disappointedly. "Of course you had parents. They just weren't what you think they were."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"I mean their love, Harry. It was never real," he says almost apologetically.

"My parents loved me! They died for me!" I defend them.

"Oh yes, they certainly did. That's precisely why they died. I mean that they didn't love each other. There was no marriage. No… happy family. No, they were paired for their genes, and I added a few details of my own." His grin returns and it sends shivers down my spine.

"Why are you saying this to me? Who they hell are you?" I shout, enraged at this man who claimed outrageous things.

"I told you, Harry. I'm Doctor Riddle. And I'm your creator. You were made from the genes of two talented Victors, to be the first of a new kind of warrior. You see, Harry, rebellion is coming again to Panem. And when it does, we'll need to be armed. You, my boy, are a muttation. A genetically engineered human being, tailor made for combat."

My mouth gapes open but I can make a sound. I can't even take a breath. Dr. Riddle chuckles darkly at my stunned expression. I finally find my voice and the first thing I want to know is this.

"What do you mean my parents died because they loved me?"

Dr. Riddle purses his lips in annoyance.

"Well, when two people have a child together it's apparently hard not to love it. And when the time comes to give it up, they don't want to. So, they had to be taken out of the picture."

It takes a moment to process this. All this time I'd been blaming President Snow for the death of my parents. But it wasn't him. It was this… Dr. Riddle.

"The train wreck?"

"Yes."

"You did that? Not Snow?"

"Well, he suggested it strongly but yes, the train was my doing."

"You son of a-" I try to throw my hands around his throat but I can't. I can't seem to move at all. Dr. Riddle chuckles again.

"You thought I wouldn't program some safety measures, Harry? You can't attack me. You're own body won't allow it."

My rage is building but I take a few calming breaths. I want to get more answers.

"If you wanted me, and want my parents to die, then why was I on the train?"

He waves his hand dismissively.

"Oh I knew you'd survive. And if you didn't you'd have been a failure anyway."

"So why am I only here now? Why didn't you take me when I was a baby? You said my parents didn't want to give me up."

"Ah but you know very well what they were fighting for before we had them eliminated. They didn't want the children of Victors in the Games. People were starting to listen, too. Oh the injustice of it all." He rolls his eyes.

"So… you wanted me to be in the Games?"

"Right you are, Harry. This has all been a test for you. And you passed with flying colors."

I can't tell why I'm shaking most right now. The humiliation of being a mutt? The guilt of 23 children dying so I could be tested? The fury at being nothing but a pawn to this horrible man?

"What was the test exactly? I ask slowly. He leans forward, his eyes dark and menacing, his smile gone completely.

"Obedience. You do what you body tells you, and that, Harry, is what we want from you. You continue to be an obedient little puppy, and we'll leave you mutt loving uncle alone."

His words stab into my heart. They could hurt Sirius just as easily as they could hurt my parents. A shrill ring distracts both of us from our thoughts. Grumbling, Riddle stands and snatches up the telephone from the wall.

"Riddle speaking." I can't hear anything the other party to the conversation has to say but, whatever it is, it does not please the doctor. His expression grows darker and darker, until I see a wild fury burning in his eyes.

"You told me I could have him after the Games! I made him! He's mine!" I think his eyes might have turned red for a moment and the familiarity of it sends shivers down my spine.

"Fine! After the Tour then, but I want exclusive access. No one else gets to touch him," he demands, barely waiting for a response before slamming the receiver down. He turns his glare on me before his ugly fake smile returns.

"It would seem your... assignment can wait. Your training will begin after the Tour." He mutters to himself about the waste of valuable time before addressing me again.

"Now then, let's get you tarted up. You've got an exit interview to give, my lovely little Victor. I'll be in touch," he tells me before sauntering out of the room. Malkin and my prep team shuffle in, as Capitolites in heels are want to do, once he's gone. While they prep me for my interview I mull over the details of my encounter with Dr. Tom Riddle.

I'm convinced he is quite insane, but he doesn't seem delusional. I can't help believing everything he said to me.

I'm a mutt. Bred for combat. My parents were forced to have me. My mother never escaped prostitution like I thought. It just wasn't the same kind as my father's. My entire life suddenly makes a whole new kind of sense. The immunity from law enforcement. The ease with which I'd escape. The hatred I received from my mother's sister. Even the strange slowing of time and rapid healing now make a disgusting sort of sense.

The loss of control I experience is programming. My body has it's own set of instruction it follows, that have nothing to do with what I tell it to do. I could fight for control, I know I could thanks to the time I prevented myself from beheading Tracy. I'm sure if it came to it, even those failsafes that prevented me from attacking Dr. Riddle could be overcome. But if I want to keep Sirius safe I can't. I need to obey or Sirius will die.

Sirius. He knew. That bastard knew and he'd never told me.

**Thanks for reading.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 13**

**A Soldier's Welcome Home **

The scars on my body have all been buffed away by some hi-tech Capitol beautification treatment. The only scare I have left is the one across my face.

"Oh no, dear. That one is far too iconic. It would ruin you image to get rid of it," Malkin informed me when I asked why it was still there. In the past I would have felt the same. That it was iconic and unique. That this scar was proof I had survived the Capitol. Now it's only a reminder that Dr. Riddle has owned me since before I was even born.

The outfit they put me in for my interview is ridiculous. Like everything else the Capitol likes to put me in. I'm dressed in an imitation of ancient military uniforms, but in white Peacekeeper patterns. Malkin bristles at the thought of not being allowed to design my exit outfit. This one came straight from President Snow. The message they're sending to me, and to all of Panem, is clear. I'm their little solider.

And so, I'm marched out to meet Caesar, for a final interview before I head back home to Six. Back to the Grey. I'm forced to answer questions and provide commentary on how I felt or what I thought at certain points during the Games, as we watch a highlight reel of my performance. It's cut in such a way so as to minimize my emotional display and maximize my brutality. I'm told I'm a genius for having figured out I could pass through the walls instead of around, when no one else had thought of it. I'm congratulated on my speed and strength. They don't show my tears but they do show me stabbing Draco to death, and then wiping his blood across my face. They also don't show me trying to start the fire, only running from it.

It's a good edit, I have to admit. I look deadly, savage, and fearsome, despite having only made 3 actual kills in the arena. 5 if you count the snake and the spider, which apparently they do. Caesar likes to keep coming back to how young I am, and how remarkable it is for me to have won the Games. So it's no surprise that his last question is this.

"Harry, you are the youngest Victor there has ever been of the Hunger Games," Caesar reminds me with a proud smile, "I'm sure Finnick Odair, the previous owner of that title is just mad with jealousy right now. Would you like to say anything to him?"

I know where Snow or Riddle want me to take this line of questioning. They're differentiating me from Finnick. Where he is the Capitol's darling, desired by all, I am now the Capitol's soldier, to be feared and respected. I'd assumed I would end up in prostitution like my father if I ever did win the Games, but now I find myself stuck in the other Capitol obsession. Death. I'm sure I'm supposed to answer something cocky, drive home how much stronger and scarier I am than he is. Instead I say this.

"I'm sorry about Cedric. He was the best of us."

Finnick would have been Cedric's mentor and, from what I know now of Alastor, a tribute's death cuts deep. It hits me that starting next year I too will be a mentor. I failed to save three people in this year's Games. The only comforting thought I can give myself is that at least from now on it will only be two people, rather than three, that I won't bring home each year.

The interview comes to a close and I meet Alastor and Dolores again. Dolores congratulates me and thanks me for finally giving her a winner. I barely stop myself from punching her in the stomach. Alastor, on the other hand, is silent. We sit in the dining car on the way home, neither Alastor nor I touching any of the food. He locks eyes with me for a moment and then hands me his flask. I've always assumed he keeps it full of alcohol but as I knock it back the overwhelming bitterness hits my tongue before my whole mouth goes numb. I cough after the liquid finishes sliding down my throat.

"What was that?" I wheeze, handing the flask back.

"Morphling. Diluted of course. It helps keep you sane," he says casually. Sane? That's hardly the first adjective I'd choose when describing Alastor. I've never used morphling and had never wanted to, but soon the screams of the arena are fading from my mind and the pain in my heart is subsiding. No wonder so many people use it.

"So that's what you're always drinking?" I ask, to which he nods. "Why don't mask the flavor?" A sweet syrup could help it go down easier. We may not have luxury in Six but us Victors have enough money to buy from the Capitol.

"So I don't delude myself into thinking I'm happy," he responds. We fall back into silence as the train travels toward Six. It's not a long trip and It's over before I want it to be. Stepping off the train, I'm back in front of cameras. The Capitol wants to see my welcome home. The people of Six may not care for me but they know better than to not cheer when the cameras are on them and they're surrounded by Peacekeepers.

Mayor Fudge gives a brief little speech, congratulating me on my victory and inviting me to live in the Victor's Village, as if I didn't already. And then the cameras are finally gone. The Mayor gives me a ride up to the Victor's Village where I now own three houses, and drops me off at one I've never entered before. Numbly I open the door and step in. Unlike my mother's pristine house under the care of her sister, or my father's home, decorated as if a happy couple lived there, this one is completely bare. There is very basic furnishing but it's just as grey as the rest of the house.

I hear a noise coming from the kitchen so I go to investigate. Sitting at the dining table is Sirius, holding a steaming mug in both hands. I only stare at him for a while, not knowing what to say to him. He gestures at another steaming mug at the opposite side of the table, and I take the chair in front of it. I grasp the mug in both hands like he does and we sit in silence. Or at least the room is silent. The morphling has been wearing off and I hear the arena again. If it's like this for all Victors, no wonder Arabella couldn't cope. I think Remus may be the lucky one, completely vacant except at the full moon.

Sirius doesn't seem inclined to break the silence so I do.

"You knew I was a mutt?"

He nods, not able to look at me.

"How could you ever tell me my parents were happy? How could you give me hope like that?" I demand harshly. He finally meets my eyes.

"You were a child, Harry. I wanted to keep you safe as long as possible," he replies softly.

"Why? What do you care if a mutt is safe or happy?" I accuse. He hesitates for a minute, then pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. He smoothes it out a stares at it wistfully before handing it over. It's a photograph. In it Sirius and my father are holding each other close, and they're kissing. I'm not nearly as surprised as I feel I should be. I knew about Sirius, and how close he was to my father. And I knew my parents' marriage was for show.

"He loved you, Harry. You were his son. Eventually he loved her too." I look up sharply at his last admission.

"They told me it was all fake," I tell him, asking for clarification without outright saying so. He nods sadly.

"It started that way. I hated her so much for taking him from me, and forcing him to fake it. But they were so good for each other, and then you came along. He came to me one day. Said he felt like he was betraying me by falling for her, but I couldn't find it in me to resent the little bit of happiness they'd found. They genuinely loved each other in the end, Harry. And I promised, if anything every happened to them I would be there for you."

A couple of tears glide down Sirius' cheeks.

"You have to make them pay, Harry," he begs me through his tears. "For James and Lily. For Nym. It's all just too much. They've done too much. They have to pay."

I desperately want to do what he says but I know it's not possible. I've grown up knowing you can't cross the Capitol. I shake my head.

"I can't Sirius. They told me I had to be their little soldier or they'd hurt you. I can't let them hurt you," I tell him, gripping my mug tighter. It hasn't been steaming for a long time now but I can't lift it. My arms feel like lead. Sirius gives me a dark chuckle.

"You won't have to worry about me, Harry. They can't fire me, because I quit," he jokes. Then he reaches into his lap and lifts something up to his head. It's a handgun. And he's pointing it at his own head.

"No!" I try to lunge for the weapon but the table is too wide to reach across.

"I'm sorry," he says before pulling the trigger.

**Thanks for reading.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: See Profile**

**Harry Potter and the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 14**

**Playing the Games **

A week has passed since Sirius' suicide. The Peacekeepers came to quietly collect his body, and clean the blood and brains from the walls. I hadn't moved since the gunshot sounded. I'm in bed now but only because Alastor carried me here. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. All I could do was replay that moment over and over. Finally after 4 days I passed out of exhaustion. The dreams that plagued me were terrible. My mind would replace Pansy with Nym as I cleaved her in half. I watched myself stab Tracy over and over instead of Draco. The moment I strangled Ginny blurred as every face I ever cared for even a little replaced hers. Even when it was her face still there I couldn't feel good about it. She'd been right. We were friends, and I'd dragged out her death making sure she would suffer.

I wake up with a final image of me holding a gun to Sirius' head and pulling the trigger myself. My eyes shoot open but I'm too numb to scream. I sit up for the first time in days, my muscles aching and my stomach grumbling.

"Ah, finally awake Mr. Potter?" a smooth voice asks from somewhere else in the room. In a chair by the fireplace is an unmistakable figure. His face is covered by a newspaper but the shock white hair of President Snow peeks out over the top of it. He folds the newspaper into his lap, showing his equally white beard.

"I was afraid our little soldier might be broken," he continues with a pleasant smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"No sir, just sleeping." I reply evenly. I'll play his games for now, even though I know there's nothing left for him to use against me.

"I see," he says calmly before pulling the newspaper back up in front of his face, taking care to let me see the picture of a crying girl on the front page.

"It would be a shame to lose such an icon before the Victory Tour. I know a few people who are… dying… to meet you."

It's a clear threat but I have no one left that he can hurt. I'm getting tired of playing so I tell him so.

"There's no one that I'd like to meet, thank you." I cross my arms over my chest in defiance.

"Not even, say, Johanna Mason?" he taps the picture of the girl and my stomach turns to ice. Johanna. I have no way of knowing if this is Tracy's Johanna but I know if it is then I can't possibly face her.

"No, not even Johanna Mason," I say, trying not to sound defeated.

"Pity. I guess I'll have to kill her then," he says this so matter-of-factly it's sickening. He knows he has me there. Whether it is Tracy's Johanna or not, I can't be responsible for the death of another crying teenager.

"What do you want from me?" I ask him bitterly. He folds the newspaper back into his lap again.

"I want you to be the little soldier you were meant to be. I want you to parade around in a uniform and hum the Capitol anthem like it's your favorite tune on the radio. And when I think you're ready, I want you to command a squad of special Peacekeepers to dispatch my bitterest enemies. Do you understand me Mr. Potter? I want you to be _my _soldier." His stare is so intense that I find it hard to keep eye contact. He want me to kill for him. I suspected it already but to hear him say so out loud is unnerving. He's a politician after all, and politicians use subtlety, not overt threats. Perhaps he thinks I'm too much of a child to play his games. Well I'm not.

"Fine. I'll be your soldier. But I have one condition." His eyes narrow at me, and I narrow mine right back.

"What condition would that be?"

"I want to kill Doctor Riddle."

His eyebrows raise slightly but otherwise he doesn't react.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible. I know about the failsafes. You can't lift a finger against him."

"Then you'll kill him for me," I state simply. Make them pay. Sirius' voice tells me. I'm not budging on this condition. I will be his soldier, but he will give me my revenge.

"Why would I do that?" he prompts, as if he'd actually consider it were I to give a good reason for it. I have the best reason possible.

"Because he put in no such failsafes to protect you from me. Only himself." It's a bluff. I don't know if that's the case but I know I can fight my body's instincts if those failsafes exist. I can tell the bluff works when Snow's eyes flash dangerously.

"I see." He stands from his chair and casually walks to my bedroom door. I call out to him before he can leave.

"I want to be there." He lifts an eyebrow at me so I clarify. "When you kill him. I want to be there."

A smirk tugs at his lips and he chuckles.

"I look forward to your Victory Tour in a few months," he says and then walks out of view.

Once the sound of the front door opening and closing again tells me her's gone, for the first time in a week I shower and eat, and then I move on to the second part of my plan. I may have told Snow I was going to play the good soldier but that doesn't mean he's going to escape my revenge. I'll take the training and the connections and they will be mine to use as I see fit.

I stretch my legs as I rise from the kitchen table, pull on some shoes, and leave the house. I walk across the way and down two house, to knock on Alastor Moody's door. He answers right away. Most likely he was watching the door already for intruders.

"Up and about again I see," he says in lieu of a greeting. I nod.

"Do you know somewhere we can talk?" I ask pointedly, leaving the "without being heard" part implied. His paranoia will fill it in anyway. He motions for me to enter and leads me down into his basement. He has a table and two chairs set up as if he was expecting me to come down here. We sit opposite each other and he offers me his flask. I decline, wanting a clear head for this conversation.

"What can I do for you then, boy?" he asks gruffly. I take a deep breath in preparation. Then, looking straight into his one eye I tell him.

"I want to start a rebellion."

The End.

**Thanks for reading. There may be a sequel some day but I'm not working on it right now. Harry will become something of an anti-mockingjay. He kills for the president to gather resources for rebellion. If there is a sequel it will cover the 6 years from Harry's Victory Tour, until the end of the quarter quell. **

**Review or PM me if you have comments, or ideas you might like to see me try. Recovered Gate Builders from my dead computer so once I have a replacement I'll continue working on it.**


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